And We Have Sinned
by Dizzy3
Summary: Tentative friendship, betrayal, kidnappings, unwilling prisoners, horrific visions, terrifying enemies, seduction, rivalry, corruption. And somewhere in the midst of it all, one of the greatest love stories you could ever imagine. An H/D fic.
1. Default Chapter

And We Have Sinned  
Chapter One: Tamed Indifference

The musty odor of dust and the oak smell of aged pages was oddly comforting in its simplicity. Hermione Granger loved this place with its quiet stillness and the warm glow of torch light. She could lose herself for hours in the time-weathered tomes concealed within its walls, and she did, on a regular basis. For six years she had escaped here, and for six years she had yet to find a flaw in its appeal. That is until today. How she had managed six years without running into it, escaped her.  
  
Clutching her books to her chest she picked up her pace, anger making her stride jerky and quick. It was the sharp click of her shoes on the marble, the rush of wind carrying the heady scent of lavender and citrus; that made the intruder glance up. He raised a winged eyebrow at her form, which had sought refuge at a table behind him and to his left. Draco Malfoy ignored her, returning to the piece of parchment he had been writing on, not all that concerned about her current temperament. She was prone to fits of mania anyway. Draco picked up his quill, sucking on it for a moment, and continued his essay.  
  
Hermione however was not so prone to easy dismissals. The intrusion on her sanctuary was in her eyes grounds for unbridled anger, especially when it concerned a cold-hearted, evil boy like Draco Malfoy. And he was sitting in her seat no less. Usually by this time the library was empty save for Madame Pince and the occasional procrastinating first year. That was part of the library's appeal at this time, solitude. But never had she seen Draco Malfoy without his band of merry losers. And to think her day had been going so well.  
  
Malfoy and his cronies never-ending torment had increased tenfold since the start of the term. The tension throughout the school seemed to fuel the fire that separated Gryffindor and Slytherin. The rumors flying around about the rise of You-Know-Who had sparked a school wide war between the forces of good and evil, with her house on the side of good and rotten-spoiled brats like Malfoy on the other. As a direct result the taunting and cruel jokes had been on a steady rise, mostly directed towards her, Ron and Harry. They were after-all the undisputed leaders of the forces of good it seemed, appointed without their knowledge to take the brunt of it.  
  
Opening her book she tried her best to ignore the silver-locked Slytherin. It was a work of fiction, something she had allowed herself to indulge in as of late. She found it easier to be lost in the trials and tribulations of people who didn't exist. Settling herself in the chair, her book spread before her Hermione let herself be taken away to a world far better then the one she called her own.  
  
He went a whole hour and a half without bothering her. They sat in companionable silence, him writing furiously and her absorbed in her book. She supposed, as she felt the book wrenched from her hands that an hour and a half of peace was all she could expect.  
  
"Midnight Hour," Draco read the spine, his usual amused drawl did nothing for her nerves. "Reading into the Dark Arts Granger?"

From her perch she glared up at him.

"Do you mind?"

She reached up to grab the book but he stepped easily back out of her grasp.  
  
"Not at all actually," he sent her the patented Malfoy smirk, eyebrows raised, blue-grey eyes flashing with superiority.

At a loss Hermione looked around for Madame Pince, her only savior in this matter but for once the doddering old woman was nowhere to be found. It bloody figured.  
  
"Of course you wouldn't," she stood. "Just give it back." He sent her a look.  
  
"No. I don't think I will." He crossed the short distance to her usual table, the one he had been occupying just moments earlier, and perched on the edge, one long leg lazily dangling over the edge. "Let's see what nonsense you've filled you head with." He licked a finger and dramatically turned the page. His brow furrowed for a moment as he read it, and then a smile overtook his face, a mocking smile.  
  
"At the thought that he had witnessed that kiss-Grace snuck a quick look to the porch rail trying to see just how much he had seen. Since the kiss had taken place in full on porch light she knew he had seen plenty and the thought filled her with pleasure."

He snorted closing the book. "Rubbish. A pity, and who would have thought the studious Granger actually enjoyed this nonsense?"   
  
Hermione was fuming. She glared at him, stalking over to the table.

"You've made your point Malfoy, now give it back."

She reached for the book but he simply pulled the arm holding it behind his back. Scowling she went to reach for it.  
  
"You are so childish!" Malfoy leaned back smirking.  
  
"And you are so pitifully sad." Hermione growled and tried to reach from the other side with her other arm. But he was too wide and she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he passed the book from hand to hand, forcing her to use both on either side of him, till she was practically hugging the evil bastard.  
  
"Alright! I'm sad, I'm weak and you're a git so can you PLEASE give me back my book?"   
  
"Just so that's clear," he was practically grinning now, holding the book up between them, all childish innocence and cocky manner.

She snatched it from his pale fingers, and stalked back to her stuff muttering under her breath, mostly about his immaturity and his ego. Malfoy hopped off the desk, positively cheerful, completely satisfied with his torment for the day. He doubted anyone else was so easy and so much fun to bother. With the exception of Potter and Weasley, but they had grown just as much as he over the years and were not afraid in the least to put up a fight.  
  
"If your done picking on people much smaller then yourself, I'll be leaving now," she slung her satchel over her shoulder, and tossed that little tidbit over it as well.

His amusement disappeared and the cheerful glint in his eyes turned to a glare. He crossed the space between them before she could blink. Cold hands found her jaw and he gripped her face in those same, long, pale fingers that had gripped her book just seconds before; once taunting, now threatening. She winced as he rather painfully dug into her chin.   
  
Her hazel eyes looked up the foot or so, into his icy ones, defiant but a bit fearful. He more then a little resembled his father. It was startlingly clear now.  
  
"In that you are sadly mistaken," his voice was soft, almost a caress. She wasn't sure if he was referring to his picking on smaller people or her leaving. She seriously hoped it was the former, the look in his eyes was a bit crazed, and a lot angrier then she was used to seeing.   
  
"Let go of me," she bit out, hard and unflinching. He didn't scare her.  
  
"Potter and Weasel aren't here to help you now Mudblood," he leaned closer, till his face was almost level with hers.  
  
"Who says I need them?"

His fingers lessened their hold a bit. One moved against her cheek and he smiled.  
  
"Only every bit of trouble you've ever been in," he whispered.

Hermione's eyes never wavered but there was a bit of fear there, and confusion. It was enough to satisfy him. He released her, if not a little roughly and picked up his essay.  
  
"Are you done now?" Hermione snapped, regaining a bit of her lost pride, and looked at him.  
  
"Yes. But you'd do well to remember what you are Granger. And what I am." His eyes were like ice.  
  
"An egotistical, evil prat?" He ignored her, striding towards the exit, leaving her there angry and embarrassed, not even allowing her the closure of a response.  
  
Evil. The word pricked at his skin, leaving him even colder then he was. Evil. The naive little twit had no idea what evil was, could not even imagine. Draco strode down the hall, his blood boiling. Evil was a word that better suited his father.

Although in his youth he had idolized Lucius, adored him even, he now had a better idea of what the man was capable of, and felt a loathing more powerful then any adoration. No. Draco Malfoy was not evil. Not yet. At least he was trying not to be. But the current circumstances made it very difficult. He idly rubbed his chest. Very difficult indeed.

She was still red-faced and over anxious when she reached the Gryffindor common room. Knuckles white from clenching the book, she stomped inside, her expression mutinous. Harry and Ron looked up from their chess game.  
  
"What's wrong?" Ron moved a pawn.  
  
"Malfoy," she grunted. "Little prat was bothering me in the library."

Both boys clenched their teeth a perfectly synchronized show of anger. Muttering phrases like "complete arse" and "bastard son of a something or other". Hermione smiled, looking at the game, pride swelling in her chest at their support of her hatred. Ron was of course winning, the debris of Harry's little pieces littered the table. Few matched Ron's skill, but once in a while she and Harry found themselves competing at his level. Today was no such day for Harry, however. Ron was showing no mercy and the board was his miniature battlefield.

Hermione smiled wider, all thoughts of Draco Malfoy and the library banished from her mind, replaced instead by the comfort of friendship.  
  
It was two days before Hermione even caught a glimpse of him again. They were, it seemed, avoiding each other and doing a beautiful job of it. That is, until, they both decided to show up to dinner Friday night at exactly the same time. Hermione made it a point to ignore him, casting not a glance in his direction. But that didn't prevent her from feeling him. She knew he was there, impossible to ignore completely. Across from her Ron let out a snort.  
  
"Looks like Malfoy got into a bit of a lover's quarrel," He raised an eyebrow, popping a piece of carrot into his mouth.

She turned her head only slightly, not wishing to draw attention to herself. Across his cheek was a dull yellowish bruise, standing out horribly against the usually pale skin. This was not an unusual ailment for the boy. Once a week it seemed some girl was slapping him, only to forgive him again hours later. Much to the chagrin of his roommates who usually had to find something else to do for an hour or so while all was forgiven.  
  
"The only thing that opens more then his mouth is his zipper," Harry muttered, stabbing at a piece of meat.

Hermione was silent, her eye still searching him out. He was surrounded by people but somehow isolated, pushed back farther then the others, completely standing out. He winced in pain, the grimace clear to see even from her seat across the way. But instead of his face he rubbed his chest, his long fingers dipping into his robe. From the look on his face it was more then the usual scratches from frenzied nails, or bruises from small angry fists. It was almost as if he was trying to conceal the pain. That certainly made sense to Hermione. Malfoy hated weakness and showing pain in the least was certainly considered just that, unless there happened to be unwarranted amounts of attention; in which case he would moan for hours about sprained fingers and little bumps. So with that train of thought he must have been in an awful lot of pain to show even that little bit. Hermione turned back to her dinner. Whatever Malfoy got he certainly deserved. There was no doubt in her mind about that. But she still couldn't fight the feeling of unease that the bruise on his cheek was not the result of a lover's quarrel, and that the pain in his chest was not simple indigestion.  
  
Lucius Malfoy surveyed the small room with distaste. It was cramped and messy, the various odds and ends of teenage life strewn about with no regard for order, or for that matter, cleanliness. The bed was made but the duvet was wrinkled and covered in the robes last worn by its occupant. The other two weren't even made. He had expected more, much more, but Lucius's life was riddled with disappointment. Especially when it came to the matter of his no account spoiled son.

He picked up the shining prefects badge on his son's bedside table, turning it over in his hand. Rather then bear the crest of the noble house its owner represented it showed instead the school's coat of arms. Disgusted, Lucius let it slip from his fingers. He felt the hairs on his neck rise and turned to the door, which had opened, and there in the dim light stood his son.  
  
Sweaty and disheveled from practice he held his Nimbus in his hand and a look of surprise on his face.

"Father, I thought-" Lucius held up his hand silencing him.

"Close the door."

Draco stepped inside, doing as he was bid, if not a bit harder then necessary.

"An issue has arisen," Lucius motioned towards the bed. "Sit."

Draco propped his broom against the wall and again obeyed without question. 

"An issue?" The boy questioned.

Lucius nodded. Draco couldn't say he cared for the look in those cold gray eyes but then again there wasn't much about his father he did care for.  
"I have a bit of a task for you," Lucius looked pointedly around the room. "Let's hope you can handle it a bit better then this."

Draco opened his mouth to respond but thought better and closed it with a snap. There were some people you didn't argue with, and Lucius Malfoy was at the top of that list.  
  
Draco felt his stomach clench with distaste. He walked into the library, his bag on his shoulder, his head filled with his plan of action. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want any part of it. But as Lucius had reminded him his duty was to his father, no one else, not even to himself.  
  
She was there of course. She always was. While Potter and Weasley tried to gain even an iota of skill on the field, she came, instead, here. She was sitting in her usual chair, hunched over her usual table, the quill in her hand scribbling furiously. So absorbed was she in her work she didn't notice his presence, didn't even look up when he took the seat across from her. She did look up, however, when he turned those gray eyes on her, filled with intent. She looked startled, drawing the scroll closer to her person, as if he was going to snatch it away. It was almost comical the expression on her face. After a moment she resumed writing, if not a little less concentrated then before. He continued to sit there, not moving simply waiting for her to acknowledge him with more then a startled look, and a defensive posture. This went on for almost ten minutes, with him feeling increasingly frustrated and stupid and her squirming in her chair with confusion.  
  
Then she slammed the quill down, making him jump and causing Madame Pince to look at her with startled, dissatisfaction before stalking away to put away dusty books or some such nonsense.

"What?" Her whisper was harsh and sharp.

"Manner's Granger, manners."

"What. DO. You. Want." She was glaring at him now, making no move to resume what she had been doing. He sighed.

"I need to enlist your services," Draco started, Hermione raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"My services?"

Draco nodded.

"Of course I'll be offering you payment-" Hermione's rage rose in seconds. For the second time in their entire school lifetime she slapped him, a hard stinging blast against his cheek that snapped his head to the side  
  
"WHAT THE HELL." He roared, and Hermione reared back, flinching as he rose from the chair as if to strike her. Again, Madame Pince was nowhere to be found. She forced herself to look up at him. He was still leaning over the table, palms on its surface, face contorted in a rage, his cheek red from her palm. His words were slow and calculated, his anger evident in every syllable.  
  
"Why did you hit me?"  
  
It was her turn to be angry.  
  
"You sit there, for ten minutes, keeping me from work and then you imply that I'm some whore. It's not amusing and it never has been and frankly I'm quite sick of it." The anger faded from his eyes replaced by mirth. He chuckled and settled back into his chair.  
  
"I hardly think this is funny." Hermione reached for her stuff, fully prepared to take her leave of the disgusting Draco Malfoy, but his firm hand on her wrist stopped her from doing anything.  
  
"You thought that was what I was implying?" His chuckle was dry, grating on her nerves. She wrenched her wrist from his grasp."Then what were you implying?"  
  
"You tutor Neville do you not? And Potter and Weasley?" Hermione blinked in surprise.

A tutor? He needed a tutor? The idea was absurd. Draco Malfoy had never been below third in the race for marks, nipping at her heels constantly. There was no reason for him to need her help.  
  
"That's ridiculous," she went for her stuff once more, but again he grabbed her wrist, if not a bit gentler this time.

"Just hear me out Granger." And again she found herself letting him speak. Satisfied he released her, settling back in his chair. "My father paid me a little visit." Hermione waited.

"It seems Dumbledore told him my current academic standings."  
  
"Which are?"  
  
"Third." His scowl was almost gratifying. It obviously bugged him. Still, third was nothing to scoff at.

"And that's a bad thing, why?" Hermione watched him raise and eyebrow.

"Sure third will guarantee me a top position," he went on. "But I'm afraid not a position as Head Boy. A goal my father intends I reach." He sighed. "Dumbledore also told him who was first." He gave her the same pointed look his father was fond of making. "Give you three guesses as to who it is." Hermione blinked.  
"And you want me to do what exactly?"  
  
"Tutor me, like I said. My father ordered me to enlist your help," she could see his distaste at the thought, the blow to his pride. "Whatever the cost." Hermione snorted.

"I don't want your money and I don't want to help you. Tell Lucius to hire a professional. I'm sure he can afford it." She stood up, fully intent on leaving this time. Draco stood up as well.  
  
"Please Granger." She looked up sharply, never had she heard him say please to anyone. "I need you to do this" It was not beneath him to beg, not when Lucius was involved. His fear of his father and his father's capabilities was far greater then that of his pride; pride that was taking a serious beating as he carried out his plan.  
  
Obviously acting was a skill he possessed in abundance, for Hermione paused, assessing his seriousness. He did his best to look desperate, even a bit fearful and when he saw the flash of pity, the lingering look on his cheek he knew he had her. Hermione was satisfied, she jerked out a nod and continued to gather her things.

"Fine. Be here tomorrow." No more words were exchanged between the two, she simply grabbed her things and left the library, leaving Draco to stare after her. She missed the look of relieved triumph, the flash of guilt that was gone just as quickly as it had come. Lucius would get what he asked sooner or later. Lucius always did. Whatever the cost...  
  
Hermione and Draco as usual didn't speak all day. She avoided him at breakfast, refused to glance in his direction at lunch, she even quickened her pace to keep ahead of him in the halls. For a moment he wondered if she would meet him at all, and fear lanced through his stomach. It was a real fear, sitting cold and heavy there, as he paused before the library doors. This was his only chance. This was his only opportunity to get her to trust him. And somewhere guilt nagged at his brain, hidden back with the other forgotten emotions from his childhood. This was wrong, he knew that, but a sharp stab of pain in his chest reminded him that wrong or not, he had to do it. Lucius's orders had been strict and detailed, and to not follow them...  
  
Draco idly rubbed his chest which had started burning afresh the longer he stood before the door, debating with himself. Resigned, he gave a sigh and pushed it open. He didn't want to think about not following them.  
  
He almost sighed in relief when he saw her waiting, eyes on her book at the usual table. Hermione Granger was many detestable things, but liar did not appear to be one of them. She looked up, hearing his boots on the marble. He gave her a nod and a smirk in greeting."Let's begin shall we?" He drawled. Hermione gave him a jerky nod in return. She sighed.  
  
"What would you like to start with?" Draco shrugged at the question."Potions perhaps? Test tomorrow you know." He suggested.

Hermione did know, she had only spent the last week preparing for it and still didn't feel the least bit of confidence. She took out her notes and he his.

"All right," She sighed. "How do you learn best?" She started to nervously arrange the papers around her. "Do you want me to lecture, or quiz you, or go over the lesson perhaps?" Draco shrugged again, tapping his quill against the desk.   
"Discussion I suppose," he gave another shrug, a nervous habit of his she reasoned. But if Draco could be nervous, she seriously doubted it. "I do better when I'm talked to rather then taught to." He continued.

Hermione could certainly understand that, she gave him a nod. Her love for Arithmancy had stemmed from the classes open discussion rather then studious note taking. She could remember the number of times she had tried to draw Harry and Ron into a conversation about their classes, only to be teased and taunted, the subject always moving along to something like Quidditch or girls. Nothing she was interested in.  
"Where to start then?" She looked at her notes. "Moral implications of truth serum's all right?" Draco nodded, leaning forward slightly. He thought a moment, arranging his argument, knowing they would argue, and smiled at her, almost a leer.   
  
And then they were off, debating and theorizing, Hermione working in the more practical ingredients and properties as they went. They spoke in hushed whispers, debating with the skill of practiced barristers, consulting notes and text books to prove the validity of their arguments. Both were certain it was the most engaging study session they'd ever participated in.  
  
Hermione was quick-witted and forceful, cunningly working practical knowledge into the theorized. Draco was impressed, a bit respectful, but not willing to let himself be out done. He argued with a quiet intelligence, his arguments fueled by his need to be right, his tone filled with passion on the subject. It wasn't until hours later when every aspect of the lesson had been picked apart and examined that they noticed how quickly the night had slipped away. It was Madame Pince's throat clearing and glances to the door that told them the session had ended, highly enjoyable though it was. They quickly gathered their things, making for the exit.  
"Tomorrow then Granger?" Draco asked, holding open the door. She nodded as she passed.  
"We can try our hand at Transfiguration, the Ministry Law's Test is Friday." She reminded him. They walked together for a moment in silence, each slightly exhausted from the verbal ministrations of the evening, but both extremely impressed.

"I'm sure you'll have no trouble tomorrow," Hermione said finally. "You have an excellent grasp of the lesson."  
  
Draco smirked. "Well, thank you Professor, I'm sure I don't need to tell you you'll do well." Hermione gave him a shrug.

"Nobody can do well all the time." Draco didn't for a second believe that, he had 17 years of familial education to disprove it. "Truthfully I didn't think I was prepared for the test." Hermione said after a moment. "I think we both benefited from tonight." Draco gave her a nod, and then realized they had stopped in the entrance hall, the divide between their respective ways.

"And this is where I leave you Granger," He flashed her a smirk.

"Good-bye." They stood there awkward for a moment, not sure of how to proceed. There was no proper etiquette for post-study sessions with the enemy. Finally Draco acted.  
"Good-bye," and he turned on his heel, taking off down the hall, robes fluttering between his boots.  
  
The test had droned on for more then 2 hours, nearly half of Double Potions had been wasted away. It was ridiculously hard, picking at the less then obvious details. But they managed to muddle through it. Draco and Hermione both found themselves remembering the tiniest things, associating them with particular arguments, and gestures from the night before. Surprisingly Draco's method worked better for her then any of her previous.  
  
The finished within moments of each other, scanning the test of any obvious errors and then both set down their quills. Snape looked up and gave a grim nod to them, coming over to Draco's table first. He tapped his wand against it, waiting a moment as the answers were checked, as the score was given, and then he moved to Hermione's. Again he tapped his wand on the paper, silent so he wouldn't disturb the other students, still bent over their work. He waited a moment and then the score appeared.  
  
Despite her better judgment Hermione found herself looking up to Draco, who gave her a lazy smile and held up the corner of his test paper, where the grade was circled in bright shining red. 97. Hermione grinned at him, holding up her own, 98. He scowled then, but it was good-natured, and he gave her a look that seemed to say. "I'll beat you one day Granger." She just smiled, settling back into her seat, looking at her test, waiting for the lesson to end.  
  
Harry and Ron grumbled beside her, looking down at the parchment in their hands. They were close to failing, barely topping out at 67. But she knew they hadn't so much as looked at the material since Snape had gone over it. She didn't feel the least bit sorry for them, she'd offered to help and they had declined, in favor of more interesting activities. Draco gave her a look as he passed, and she gave him a small smile. It felt good to help and to be helped in return, it felt good to make above a B in Potions for once. It had always been her downfall, not as bad as Divination's had been, but bad nonetheless. If Harry and Ron noticed the exchange they didn't let on, but she couldn't help ignoring them as she watched the blonde head make its way through the crowd. She was almost looking forward to their session that night. Almost.


	2. His Dance of Trust

And We Have Sinned  
Chapter Two: His Dance of Trust  
Written by: Dizzy  
Disclaimer: I own exactly nothing."I once knew a man who would have trusted me with his life."  
"What happened?"  
"I killed him."  
  
If she was expecting some grand apology for years of torment, some wonderful display of well-wished thank you's, she was disappointed, horribly so. What Hermione received, was not the gratitude of a boy who owed her his academic excellence, but the same indifference he showed anything and everyone.  
  
He gave her a glare as she took the seat across from him, one booted foot propped on his knee.   
  
"Good work today," she offered. There was only a grunt in reply. Sighing, she shook her head, wondering what she HAD expected to happen; surely not gruff indifference, surely not the usual glare. It was exactly what he was supposed to do being Draco, but for once she had wanted him to do something differently.  
  
She began to take out her books, her quills, her pen, but his hand on hers stopped her from going further. It was firm, but gentle, and she lifted her head.

"What?"

"I don't want to study here." He said finally. It was then she noticed that he had nothing out, he had simply been waiting for her to arrive.

"Then you don't need a tutor anymore?"

She couldn't say she wasn't relieved. Working with him had been enjoyable for a brief period of time, but she chalked the enjoyment up to the utter lack of intelligent conversation anywhere else in the school. Working with him long-term was bound to be a horrible experience.

"I didn't say that." He stood. "I said I didn't want to study HERE." He motioned around the library. Hermione sat there for a moment confused.  
  
Didn't want to study here? But it was the library, where studying was supposed to happen, where books were easily accessible and it was quiet and it smelled nice. How could he not want to study here?  
  
"Wh-Why not?" She gave him the expression she had reserved especially for the criminally insane. Draco sighed."It's dirty, it's dusty, and that woman makes me nervous," he looked to Madame Pince who had fixed him with her customary glare at his apparent lack of purpose in her library."But where else do you study?" Hermione asked bewildered.

"Anywhere else really," Draco shrugged. "Usually outside." Hermione's eyes snapped to the window.

"But it's dark out," she said after a moment. Draco held up his wand, raising an eyebrow. "And it's cold." She said finally, her fingers gripping the desk as if she thought he was going to physically pull her from her sanctuary. Draco held up the fabric of his cloak.

"It's refreshing," he motioned for her to get up. "Come on."

"But...I like the library." Draco sighed at her stubbornness, reaching down and gently extracting her fingers from their death grip on the desk, and then all but yanked her to her feet.

"Live a bit Granger," he snapped, and grabbed her bag, shoving it at her chest, before grabbing her elbow. He started pulling her to the door.  
  
Hermione did everything she could. She dug her heels in, she tried to get her arm away, she cast pleading looks to Madame Pince who sat, safe, behind her large oak desk and did nothing but stare in relief that her library was going to once again, be empty. All her pleading was to no avail, Draco Malfoy was stronger then her, he was scarier then her, and he was used to getting what he wanted and used to changing what he didn't want. And apparently he didn't want to study in the library.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly as he pulled her along, blushing furiously at the looks people cast in her direction. She was trying desperately to get her arm out of that iron grip, and trying equally as hard to keep up with her long-legged guide.

"Outside." He said. "Where I usually study."

"You? Study?" She said after a moment, he cast her a look over his shoulder.

"You give me too much credit Granger," he smirked. "I didn't get to the top 3 by sitting around on my arse."

"So you study standing," she said in a lame attempt to make a joke, but it didn't make him lessen his pace and it didn't make him turn around and take her back to the one place she felt safe. He continued to pull her along, down the hallway, to the main entrance hall and out the front doors onto the expansive Hogwarts lawn.  
  
It wasn't so cold out, the sky was clear, and there was a bit of a breeze but all in all it was fairly mild. He continued to drag her along for a little bit longer, finally stopping under a large willow tree that sat the edge of the lake."Here we are," he pushed aside the hanging green tendrils and motioned for her to go inside. Hermione wondered briefly if it would eat them before she stepped under the canopy of foliage.  
  
"This is where you study?" Hermione took out her wand. "Lumos" she whispered. She saw Draco nod in the light and he plopped onto the ground, bringing his bag out from behind the trunk of the tree, leaning against it."It's...nice." And it was. The tree was fairly old, the long strings of leaves touched the ground and were wonderfully thick, forming a sort of natural tent around them. "Do you come here everyday?" She sat tentatively on the ground across from him, crossing her legs Indian style before pulling out her books, setting her lit wand on the ground beside her. Draco had stuck his in a knot on the tree and was already turning pages."Unless it rains." he said. "No one else comes out here."

"Oh." She began flipping pages absently. "Why were you in the library that day then?"

"What day?" He didn't look up, just started arranging his notes beside him, stretching out his legs.  
"The day you stole my book," She looked up.

"It was probably raining," he shrugged. "How should I know?" He picked up his own book, propping it on his thigh before turning it to the Chapter the test dealt with. "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't," Hermione said sighing. "It was just bugging me. I never see you in there."

"Because I'm here," he pointed to the ground. "It's more comfortable out here."

"So you're a fan of the outdoors?" She placed her own book in her lap.

"I'm not a fan of anything." He said shortly and sighed. "Can we start this already?"

"Sure." She looked at the page. "Where would you like to begin?" Draco shrugged and she sighed.

"Well the test is on Ministry Laws," she said scanning the page. "And there's heavy emphasis on the opposition groups dealing with them." She looked up.

"What kind of opposition groups?" His voice was actually interested now, perking up for the first time since their initial meeting. She turned the page and he did so as well.

"Well there's one against the Banning of Traditional Wizarding Practices, there's another on the Treatment of certain wizarding world minority groups." She scanned further.

"Why don't we start with-" his eyes were twinkling. "Censorship of the Dark Arts in wizard schools?" He raised an eyebrow in challenge. She glared at him. "I think we could come up with a few interesting view points." He was practically grinning. "Don't you think?"  
  
It was two hours later and they were still arguing, rather loudly and forcefully; her red-faced and vehement, him the picture of calm, grinning as if he was having the time of his life. It only served to fuel her fire.   
"That is RIDICULOUS, you can't teach that to a group of underaged wizards."  
"And why not?"  
"BECAUSE it's DANGEROUS."  
"You certainly didn't have any objections to old Moody demonstrating the curses in 4th year," he pointed out.  
"But he didn't teach them to us!" She said. "Could you just imagine what it would be like if a bunch of 3rd or 4th years knew how to do the Imperius Curse?" Draco chuckled at the image.

"I still think it's a necessary part of our education."

"Only if we wanted to teach potential Death Eaters." She spat. Draco raised an eyebrow at her.

"The best way," he started slowly. "too fight your enemy is to know how he's going to attack." His eyes caught hers and he stood up, crossing the short distance in a matter of seconds. She was frozen under his gaze, wary and unsure. He knelt down.

"Now if I were..let's say a snake." He said softly. "I would wait, tensed and coiled and then I would strike." He came at her, making her fall backwards into the grass, but he reared back, chuckling.

"Now if I was the intended target and I knew nothing of snakes I would probably get bitten." He was circling her now. Lecturing. "But if I were EDUCATED about snakes, if I had been taught how to handle them then I would know how fast and how far a snake can attack. I would know that most can only lunge to a certain height, can only sense certain things. Most of all I would know how to prevent it." He knelt down again, behind her now, his breath hot against her ear. "That is the reason for education." Hermione sat there frozen, unsure of what to do. She wasn't used to having him this close, wasn't used to feeling like, perhaps, she was actually wrong about something. Her eyes slid closed. Draco went on. "If you knew how to use the Imperius Curse, if you knew how it worked then you'd be on level playing ground with the enemy wouldn't you?" He was still there, she could feel the heat of his body against her back, the whispers in her ear, moving tiny strands of hair as he spoke. "That is why we should teach students not only how to defend themselves," he went on. "But how to AVENGE themselves." She could hear his footsteps on the grass, and she opened her eyes.  
  
Draco started to gather his things

"Wh-Where are you going?" She closed her book."We're done here right?" He was smirking again the bastard. He put everything in his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "Be here tomorrow." He said. "But a bit later, I have Quidditch practice." Hermione nodded absently. She watched him push aside the curtain of green and he turned back to her."Don't worry," he said continuing that infuriating smirk. "I haven't learned how to do the Imperius Curse yet."  
  
He found her asleep, propped against the tree, her book open in her lap. He stared at her for a moment, his stomach clenching. She looked so peaceful and innocent, certainly not deserving of the punishment she would soon receive. Draco swallowed, kneeling down."Hey," he said softly, nudging her. She opened her eyes blearily. "Don't you know you shouldn't fall asleep outside in the dark?" He said. She blinked. "There are bad men about."

"Aren't you one of them?" She murmured groggily. Draco said nothing, merely looked away.

"Sorry it took me so long," he set his broom onto the grass, sitting across from her. "Practice ran a bit later then I intended.""It's okay," she yawned. "What time is it?"

"Only 9." He said.

"How did you do on your Transfiguration test?" Draco said nothing, merely reached into his bag and drew out the test scroll, which had a 97 circled on top of it.

"Very good," she stretched, and again he looked away.

"What did you want to go over today?" She yawned again, reaching for her bag.

"I don't know." He sighed.

"Well do you have tests in any of your other classes you need to prepare for?" Draco thought a moment.

"I don't think so."  
Hermione was at a loss. She looked at her things.

"Well..." she sighed. "I don't know what we can do."  
"How about we just go over things," he said finally. "Review and such." She nodded.

"Well there's a History of Magic test next Friday," she said taking out her book. Draco shrugged, following her lead.

"I don't really see the point of that class," he said after a moment. Hermione gave him the criminally insane look again.

"Don't see the point?" Her voice was a little hysterical, as if the thought of such a thing was inhibiting her breathing.

"Well yeah," he thumbed the pages a bit. "It's all just useless stuff that already happened anyway.""Haven't you ever heard of learning from the past?" She said incredulously. "By knowing what has been done we keep from repeating the same mistakes."

"Works in theory," Draco argued. "But never in practice."

"What do you mean?"

"Well look at the Goblin Rebellions, the Revolutions and the Revolts. There's a new one every few hundred years or so about the same meaningless crap." He shrugged. "I'm not a Goblin so what do I have to learn from that? Obviously they've learned nothing." He had a point although she would never admit it.

"Even if it's not necessary it's interesting," Hermione said finally. Draco shrugged.

"Depends on the person."

"Well I happen to find them fascinating."

"Oh so that's why you yawn every five minutes or so during class." Draco drawled. "That's your interested expression?" She glared at him.

"I most certainly do not."

"Don't you?" Draco smirked. "The other day I thought you were going to fall over in your seat from sheer boredom."

"Well it's not taught in the best manner," Hermione muttered. "I can't help it if he just drones on and on and on.""So you admit that it's boring."

"I admit that Professor is boring. Not the class." She said stubbornly.

"Fine. Fine," Draco shrugged. "But I know how you really feel." She gave him a glare before turning the page.

"Why don't we start with the establishment of the Ministry and work from there?" She said finally. Draco shrugged and finally nodded at her exasperated expression.

"Okay go ahead." He said. "Start us off then." And she did. Surprisingly she was right about one thing. The history itself was fraught with interesting snippets, snippets the Professor who taught it chose to leave out, but when Hermione Granger lectured it took on a whole new light entirely. Draco felt his stomach clench again as he watched her ramble on about the odd quirks of the establishing bodies, and wished desperately that he was someone else, anyone else, someone who wouldn't have to hurt this girl.  
  
They met every night for a brief two or three hours at a time, when it rained they went inside, when it snowed they lit fires, but mostly they just enjoyed their time together, although neither would admit it.  
  
For the first time in her life Hermione was discussing things that actually meant something to her. Things that she could ramble on about for hours at a time and know, know that he would never tell her to give it a rest, know that he would simply lean back and watch her with that look, propping his head on his hands offering a glib comment once in a while. For the first time in her life she was arguing, she was opening up to new viewpoints and ideas. And she was enjoying every minute of it. Too bad it had to be with Draco Malfoy.  
  
Draco himself was enjoying it simply because he knew it wouldn't last. The day was drawing closer and closer as Christmas reared its ugly head, their break after exams was on the horizon and the day when he would have to act was closer and closer with each ticking of the clock.  
  
As they sat under their tree he knew this companionship, this conversation that he had lacked through so much of his life was going to end, and very soon. And as he looked at the girl, on what would be their final study session here, he felt his heart clench. It had to be done though. So he pushed forward.  
  
"Are you going home for Christmas?" Draco looked up and Hermione nodded.

"My parents wish to see me," she said.

"Would you-" he took a breath, almost gripping his chest as he tried to keep himself from saying the words. But he had to. "Meet me here on the final day? Right before we leave for the train?"  
  
Hermione looked surprised. She blinked for a second.

"Why?"

"I-" he tried to look sheepish, embarrassed, two very un-Draco like emotions. "I have a gift for you." Hermione sucked in a breath, he could hear it whistle between her teeth, see the shock on her face. He waited, tense and nervous. She had to come. She had to or- he didn't even want to think about what would happen if she didn't. Time seemed to stretch out for an eternity as the girl debated with herself. He could see the conflicting emotions on her face as she went and then finally she opened her mouth to speak.

"Alright. I'll meet you." She whispered.

"Good." he stood. "Be here an hour before we leave for the train all right?" Hermione nodded and watched as his figure pushed through the curtain of leaves and disappeared into the night.  
  
A present. He was giving her a present. She felt her heart beat a bit faster, a smile coming over her face. She would be here. She knew that much.


	3. Mark of Servitude

And We Have Sinned  
Chapter Three: Mark of Servitude  
Author: Dizzy  
Disclaimer: I own the plot, which isn't saying much.

Draco looked up at his father, his chest burning more and more with every foul thought he  
directed at the man pacing before him, going over the instructions.  
  
They had to be executed perfectly he was saying, perfection was the family credo now it seemed.  
Everything must be taken slow and precise; planned to the last detail.  
  
He was to give her the gift. He was to take her trunk and load it onto the carriage with his own  
things, and then he would join her where ever Lucius wanted to take them. It was all so perfectly  
simple.   
  
He was his father's servant, his father's prisoner. And nothing could change that. No one could  
help him.  
  
Draco looked up at the man he had once held in such high esteem. The man he had respected  
and adored for much of his life. He respected him no longer. He loathed him. And if the  
circumstances were different he would have killed him.

Hermione stared at her reflection in the mirror, tucking a strand of her chestnut hair behind her  
head. Then she brought it forward again, only to tuck it back once more. She sighed, taking in her  
as always plain reflection. Her hair was too mousey, her nose to pert and dotted with ugly  
freckles, lips too full, cheeks to puffy, hair too frizzy, the list went on and on. She glared at  
herself for a moment before smoothing the crisp white blouse and pleated skirt she had chosen  
this morning. It looked remarkably like her school uniform. Sighing once more she shrugged.  
He was giving her this gift as Hermione, and Hermione she would be, all 5'3 mousy bit of her.  
  
At the foot of her bed was her trunk, packed and ready, and on top of that was her bag, filled  
with everything she thought she would need on the train ride back home. In there were at least 3  
very large books, a few scrolls of parchment, 2 quills, 3 bottles of ink, a bag of Bertie Botts, 3  
chocolate frogs and a bottle of butter beer. She didn't feel that it would be enough, but regardless  
she slung the bag over her shoulder, and sucked in a deep breath. She was going to do this.  
  
Ron and Harry helped her carry her trunk to the entrance, telling her the whole way how they  
wished she could stay, how much they would miss her. She gave them both brief hugs and pecks  
on their cheeks, smiling lightly."I'll be back in 2 weeks," she laughed at Ron's expression. "Owl me okay?" Both boys nodded  
and she patted them both on the head once more before levitating her trunk towards the door.  
She cast one final wave over her shoulder and shot them both a grin.  
  
As she made her way across the lawn with her levitated luggage she felt a sense of dread in her  
stomach. What if he didn't show up? What if this was some cruel prank? She steeled herself for  
both possibilities and walked a little faster towards their tree, which loomed, bright and inviting  
by the lake. She couldn't see anything through its foliage, but that didn't mean he was really  
there.   
  
Hermione pushed aside the bright green foliage and was relieved to find that he was. One  
possibility banished from her mind. But there was still the other, looming dark, and cruel, casting doubt on any good that could come of this day.Her trunk followed her into their sanctuary, settling on the grass. She regarded him warily under  
lowered lashes, her cheeks flushed.  
  
"You came." He looked almost as relieved as she felt.

"Yes."

"Thank you." He murmured, but his expression was one of stone, completely unreadable.

"You're welcome." She said, stepping a bit closer. "What...what did you want me for?"

"I-" she thought she saw him choke on his words, but cast it off. Draco Malfoy did not choke.

"I have something to give you."

"A present?"

"Don't call it that." His words were sharp, hard. This was anything but a present. Presents were things given out of love, out of friendship. This was given out of neither.

"I'm sorry." She said hastily. Of course Draco Malfoy would never gift her a present. It went  
against everything he believed in. Yet he had said that had a gift to give her, what was a present if not another word for gift? She looked at him curiously. He was utterly silent before her looking at the ground as he duck through his pockets.  
  
A few moments of silence later he drew out the most beautiful, and somehow most frightening  
necklace Hermione had ever seen. The chain was long and sparkling silver, the necklace itself  
nothing more then a deep blood red teardrop of a stone, the black inside swirling and dancing in  
the middle. She sucked in a breath.  
  
"It's beautiful." She whispered. Draco shook his head.  
  
"No. It's not." He took a step towards her, his hand trembling as he held the necklace. She  
ducked her head, letting him put it over her. He was acting very strange indeed. Normally Draco, having given such a gift to a girl would have been gloating, smug even. Now he was trying to play it off, as if it was nothing special.  
  
He didn't let it fall against her at first, he merely held it above her neck, his fingers brushing the  
tender skin there, but he didn't let it go.  
  
"Hermione." She looked up, her eyes catching his. She sucked in another breath. His eyes were  
so sad, so full of remorse and something she couldn't place she could scarce breath.

"Yes?" She wanted him to kiss her she realized after a moment. She wanted this necklace to  
mean something to him. Which was absurd, she reasoned, things were no different now then before. He was still Malfoy, she was still Hermione. A few nice study sessions under a tree, a few lingering looks and a necklace didn't change the fact that after this was over they would go back to being enemies. He would say something to Ron of Harry, or even to her, and be cast back into the role of enemy once again. She knew this, just as he did. Just because they were being civil for a few weeks, and sharing lovely conversations didn't change the past, and certainly couldn't alter the future.

"I'm sorry," and his voice, so heartbroken, so full of guilt and apology, she almost couldn't  
respond from the beauty of it."Why are you-" and then he let the necklace drop.  
  
It hit her skin, burning her flesh, and she screamed, short and shrill as black smoke wrapped  
around her yanking her backwards, away from Draco, away from Hogwarts. She didn't even have time to think about what was happening.

She was spinning now, tumbling and swirling through a void, her heart clenching, her flesh,  
where the necklace lay, screaming in pain from the burning. But she couldn't breath, she couldn't  
cry out, she could barely move, merely swirl and turn through the utter lack of light. Hermione  
was quite sure she had never been so frightened in her life. And then the blackness overtook her.  
  
Draco fell to his knees, his chest burning with such intense pain from the thoughts of betrayal in his mind that he thought he would pass out.  
He vomited instead, over and over he heaved, guilt making him weak, making him want to  
weep. He hadn't wanted to hurt her. Never, in all his years of torment, had he ever wanted to cause physical pain to Hermione Granger. Not really. Sure he had boasted that he wanted her dead, wanted all mudbloods dead but that was years ago. When he still adored his father, and was still held under his sway. Now he was merely just aggravated by her, years of rivalry and hurled insults. But certainly he had never wanted to harm her because of those years.  
  
After his stomach seemed to have nothing more, he sat there, sweaty blond tendrils of hair falling  
into his face as he clutched his stomach.

"I'm sorry." He whispered to nothing.  
  
Carefully, Draco loaded the trunk onto the back of his carriage, securing it with the leather  
bindings. The burning in his chest had subsided, leaving a dull ache in its place. He was trying no to think of Lucius. He would be  
with her soon. He would protect her as long as he could, as much as his father would let him. It was the least he could do.  
  
When he was certain the trunks were going nowhere he climbed into the horseless carriage,  
completely alone. The door slammed behind him and the gentle rocking of the carriage as it  
made its way to where his father would meet him was almost comforting.  
  
Draco curled into a small ball on the black velvet seat, hugging his limbs close to him. He would  
sleep now and dream of how it used to be. He would lose himself in the past. The future was  
enough of a nightmare to make him fear sleep no more.   
  
She could see dark black marble rising up to greet her when the light returned, and her head took the brunt of the fall. It  
hit the ground with a dull thwack, her shoulder and hip making contact next. The pain was sharp  
and burning, but only for an instant, replaced instead by a searing ache.  
  
She tried to push herself up off the ground, rising up on her arm. She only made it halfway  
before her arm gave out from the pain and she met the ground again. She opened her eyes,  
seeing nothing but smooth marble tile and the legs of a few pieces of oak furniture, nothing  
familiar. She tried to rise again, but failed once more.  
  
Behind her, perhaps in her imagination, she heard a dry laugh, almost a cough, and heard the  
rustling of robes.  
  
"Atratus Comburo," a familiar voice spoke, one she couldn't place and then the blackness  
consumed her again.  
  
"Your father wishes to see you," Narcissa Malfoy, a woman of great beauty but little to no  
substance looked at her son. She had that same faraway look she was never without, and she was  
as always in her wedding dress.  
  
At one time the dress had been a beautiful thing, all lace and shiny fabric, it hugged her body,  
swirling about her as she moved. At one time it had been a symbol of happiness, of a life she had  
always dreamt of. A life of riches and power married to a man she loved. But now, the dress  
mirrored her life.  
  
She had worn it for as long as Draco could remember, since his birth at least, and the years had  
not been kind to it. He rarely saw her in anything but the dress, unless Lucius forced her to wear  
something else if they were going out, or perhaps if they had a party to attend. It was yellowed  
with age, torn and ripped in places, splattered with blood and wine and God only knew what  
else. His mother could often be seen dancing with a ghost of partner, swirling about her drawing  
room, locked away from the rest of her world. Unless his father willed her into sanity she was anything but sane.  
  
And now, sitting in her pristine white throne of an armchair, her legs tucked beneath her she  
smiled at her son dreamily, the gown draped about the chair.  
"How was France?" she asked happily. The trip to France had been more then 10 years ago, yet  
anytime he was away she thought he was just returning home from it. As usual she didn't let  
him answer her, for he always told her the truth. He hadn't been in France, he had been at school.  
He was seventeen years old, and he hadn't been to France since the first time. She never wanted  
to hear the truth, so she always interrupted him before he could speak. "Come to me." She held  
open her arms, and Draco crossed the room to her, letting her envelope him in her embrace.  
"There are welcome home presents for you in your room," she said wistfully. "New playthings  
for my darling." She pushed him back, her hands on his shoulders and regarded him with dead  
blue eyes. His mother still believed him to be a boy of no more then five, and he suspected she  
always would, except for those brief times when Lucius willed otherwise. When he was younger, around twelve or so he had wished that Lucius would force her to be normal all the time. Then he had learned what lengths his father had to go to do such things, it was then he had learned of the pain Lucius cause his mother in doing them.

She bought him children's toys, placing them on his bed when he returned from  
school, and scolded him when he acted older then the age she thought him to be. She was fond of saying that her  
little Draco should enjoy his childhood while it lasted, even though it had ended many years ago.  
His father indulged her of course, he left her locked away in her drawing room to amuse herself,  
he continued to pretend, at least when she was around that Draco was a young child, and while  
his mother barely noticed his absences when he was gone for school he continued to tell her that  
he was away on that trip to France he had taken at for his fifth birthday. If there was company who knew not of her affliction however he changed her, made her almost normal. The bidding, respectful housewife she should be, not the crazy, woman lost in the past she was.  
  
The only time his mother left her drawing room, decorated to mimic the reception hall from her  
wedding, was when his father ordered her too. His father dressed her in clothes he deemed  
suitable, and made her act the way he wanted her too, with a bit of help from the Imperius Curse  
of course. Draco knew that his mother was very ill, and that no amount of love in the world from  
her son could help her. She had been subject to years of torment from her husband, and now she  
kept her mind locked away in a world where her little boy was still 5 years old, and her husband  
still loved her.  
  
"Where is my father?" He asked. His mother smiled at him, stroking his hair with a cold hand.  
She was so beautiful, but so distant, her beauty the only thing that kept her alive. As long as she remained beautiful Lucius would keep her.

"He missed you so while you were away," she murmured, continuing to brush his hair back in  
the way he had styled it as a youth. "He wouldn't let me come visit you."

"Where is he?" Draco repeated.

"You never sent your mother a letter," she scolded. "I know your writing skills are highly  
advanced for a boy of such a young age Draco. The least you could have done was write to me."  
She smiled wistfully. "I wish I could have gone with you."   
"WHERE is HE," Draco repeated, wrenching himself away. He didn't have time for his mother's  
delusions. She continued to ramble on about what she had always loved about France, asking  
him if he had found any toys he liked in the shops there. Draco sighed, disgusted and turned to  
leave.  
"Your father wishes to see you," Narcissa repeated. "He's in his study. Do be quite Draco. You  
know how your games upset him."

"I'll try Mother," he sighed, pushing open the door to her drawing room.  
  
He made his way down the hall, ignoring the dark statues of dead relatives, ignoring the  
paintings on the wall that sneered down at him with contempt. There was no love between  
Malfoy's. His father's study wasn't far from the drawing room, he figured it was easy to keep an  
eye on his mother that way. She ventured out of the room only to twirl about in the halls,  
dancing to a silent music only she could hear. Still at her wedding it seemed.  
  
He didn't knock, he just burst into the room.  
"Where is she?" He demanded. His father smiled at him from his desk, his booted feet propped  
on it.  
"She's fine," his father turned the smile into a glare. "You'll be joining the pitiful girl shortly." He  
motioned towards a chair. "Sit." And Draco complied taking a seat in front of him, back  
straight, wanting more then anything to leave. "Did you see your mother?"  
  
"She's as mad as ever," Draco said spitefully. Lucius glared at his son but offered no comment."You will join the girl at the Winter Palace," Lucius said shortly. "I have supplied Twinkle and  
Goden for your meals, and I have sent Kylie of course."

"Of course," he sneered. "So I'll be a prisoner there as well?"

"If that's how you see it," Lucius shrugged. "You nor the girl will be permitted to leave." He  
smirked at his son, a smirk that mirrored Draco's own. "Don't want you getting any heroic ideas."

"Of course not." Draco tried to stand, but found it impossible. Lucius lifted up a small blue orb,  
barely the size of a marble, in his gloved hand and tossed it to Draco. "Catch."  
  
Draco complied, catching the orb in his hand. There was a flash as the ball hit his bare flesh, and  
he saw Lucius smile before he was yanked away from his father's study, from his mother and his  
childhood home to a place that held more then its fair share of demons.  
  
The Winter Palace.  
  
Hermione found herself awakened the next morning by a very pleasant lilting voice.  
She murmured quietly for a moment before realizing two things. For one the voice was NOT  
familiar and for another it was a female voice. Her eyes snapped open. Hovering above her was a  
very pretty girl of 16 or 17 with long auburn hair and startling green eyes. She smiled pleasantly.

"Good morning my lady," her voice, soothing with its Irish accent was somewhat disarming, and  
horribly cheerful. Perhaps she was Madame Pomfrey's newest assistant. Hermione allowed  
herself this delusion until she saw that directly behind the girl was a room that was certainly not  
the school infirmary."Who are you?" Hermione backed away a bit, her back hitting the cold stone wall."Do you wish to know my name or my purpose?" The girl asked. The girl straightened.  
Hermione looked at her more closely in the dim light. She was wearing the most peculiar  
assortment of clothes, so old-fashioned and outdated it was like Hermione had stepped right into  
a medieval fairytale. It was a wench's garb, the black bodice cinched tightly around a narrow  
waist and an assortment of black skirts fell from under that, a crisp white low-cut blouse with  
bell sleeves completed the effect. Hermione looked around, not sure whether to be scared or not  
of this girl. The room itself was frighteningly beautiful, black marble floor, rising columns and  
arches in the same black marble, a pair of wrought irons windows to the left, billowing white  
curtains barely concealed the daylight. She was on a very large bed, complete with a canopy and  
everything, and like everything else in the room it was covered in black silk.

"You can give me both." She said at last, trying to stop the aching in her head. Trying to puzzle  
out where she was and what she was doing here. "I will not panic, I will not panic." She  
whispered in her head, clenching her fists to reinforce that. The girl started to speak.

"Kylie, and I'm my new mistresses lady," she gave a little over dramatic bow and flashed  
Hermione a smile. "Master Malfoy bid me to wake you when the morning came." Hermione's  
eyes widened.

"Where is he?" Hermione looked up. "Draco that is, not Lucius.""He had a pressing engagement with his father this morning." The girl began to push aside the  
bedclothes. "My services were requested by his father." Hermione was now practically naked, a  
male's shirt the only thing covering her as the girl pulled off the bedclothes."Come my lady, we must get you ready."

"Ready for what?"

"The day of course," the girl laughed. "Unless you wish to lie about all day." Hermione shook  
her head and stood up. She figured modesty was not something this girl cared about if the  
low-cut blouse was any indication.

"You aren't a houself," Hermione stated. Although the girl's pale skin and somewhat pointed ears  
gave Hermione the impression she was not entirely human. The girl's cheerful nature and  
apparent innocence was the only thing keeping her from giving into hysteria. The little Hermione  
in her head was freaking out, but outside she was a picture of bizarre calm, even if her hands  
were shaking a bit.

"Course not," the girl said, steering the now standing Hermione on over to the large mirror. "I  
was the lady to Master Malfoy's Mother before you of course. And then his father, Master Malfoy asked for  
me expressly to assist you.""Assist me in what?"

"In the ways a lady should be assisted," the girl laughed again as if Hermione was completely  
ignorant and then opened the huge oak wardrobe. "Master Malfoy had some of My Lady's  
garments sent over for you." The girl picked out a beautiful white flowing gown. "I'm afraid  
they're quite old and out of fashion now." She took in Hermione's shirt. "Although I don't think  
you'll mind overmuch."

"Why-Why am I here?" Hermione could feel the quake begin to enter her voice, and the familiar  
burning of tears in her eyes. The girl looked startled, pressing a hand to her shoulder in comfort."Master Malfoy will be here soon to explain it to you," the girl said softly. "I'm to know  
nothing." The cheerfulness was back in full swing as the girl busied herself with dressing  
Hermione who could only stand there dumbly trying to sort out what exactly had happened.  
  
Hermione had always been a girl prone to fits of hysteria. She was a very emotional girl by  
nature and the smallest stresses could be the cause of a breakdown. But now, during the scariest  
moments of her life, she could do nothing. Not even freak out properly. Just take it in stride and  
let this strange girl, in her strange clothes, dress her for a boy she had trusted. The thought of  
Draco filled Hermione with rage, and she clenched her fists at her side, her nails digging into the  
sensitive flesh of her palm.  
  
The girl, Kylie, was babbling on besides her, fastening and cinching the dress she had selected.  
Babbling about nothing it seemed, until she caught snatches that might have proved useful.

"You shouldn't blame Master Malfoy o'course. It's not his fault," Kyle was saying, smoothing out  
the wrinkles in the skirt, kneeling beside her.

"How is this NOT HIS FAULT?" Hermione wrenched herself away, glaring at the girl. "Why am  
I here?" She demanded. The girl blinked."I only know what my Mistress told me," the girl said. "And she knows nothing at the best of  
times." The girl sighed. "If it helps you I am sorry my lady." She shook her head, auburn hair  
flying about her. "But like I said, you shouldn't go blaming young Master Malfoy. He's a good  
boy, he was just doing what his father bid him." She handed Hermione the necklace Draco had  
given her."Where are we?" Hermione crossed over to the window, pushing aside the curtains. "Where has  
he brought me?" The windows were covered in thick iron. Still she grasped a bar, trying to pry it  
off."The Winter Palace," the girl was saying. "You'll not find a way out. There isn't one."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione was panicked, absolutely panicked. The hysteria was hitting now. Ron and Harry had  
no idea she was here, no one did. As far as they knew she was safe at home with her parents.  
"There are no doors to the outside," the girl explained. "And all the windows are just like that one there."

"Where is he," Hermione spat."It's as I told you before," the girl explained. "He had an engagement with his father. He'll be  
joining you for breakfast.""WHY DID HE BRING ME HERE." Hermione was giving into the hysteria now, screaming at  
the poor girl. If Kylie minded she didn't show it, she merely picked up the shirt Hermione had  
been wearing before and draped it over her arm.

"I told you," the girl said coldly. "I know not. I don't think Master Malfoy does either. It was his  
father's wishes." She glared at Hermione. "He's a good boy," she said. "You'd do well to  
remember that."

"He's a bastard," Hermione spat. "A cold-hearted lying bastard." Kylie said nothing more, merely  
swept out of the huge room, the door slamming closed behind her, leaving Hermione alone.  
  
And she was alone. The girl sunk to her knees, a dry sob racking her chest.  
  
Truly alone.  
  
Draco looked at the shattered blue crystals in his hand, closing his eyes. That was it then. He was  
resigned to his fate in this horrible place.  
  
The Winter Palace had always been something to fear. It was a veritable prison, with no doors  
leading out into the endless plain of snow that could be seen from the barred windows, and  
enough curses and charms to keep even the most skilled of wizards within its confines.  
  
The only way in and out of the place rested in the hands of a man who had his own purposes in  
mind. And apparently those purposes included keeping Draco in the place that had been the  
source of many of his nightmares.  
  
It was cold and musty, all hard marble and sharp pointed arches rising to infinity. There was no  
warmth here, no love. It was just dank, silent and utterly horrible.  
  
He could remember once as a child being brought here, left for two weeks without another  
person to rely on, only a house-elf to bring him food and then scurry away into the darkness.  
  
He had been six then. It had been his birthday. And for those 14 days he had been chased by  
shadows that twisted into horrible monsters by a six year olds rampant imagination. A  
punishment it seemed to him, a lesson to Lucius. And those shadows had never been forgotten.  
  
And now he was back.   
  
Kylie approached him, her expression worried, an old shirt of his draped across her arm.

"The girl is here," she whispered. "She's very distressed Master Draco." He nodded briskly,  
letting the crystals of the shattered blue orb fall from his palm to the floor.  
  
"What did my father tell you?"  
  
"Just that I was to serve her, and to do as you ordered me of course," she looked down at the  
ground, submissive as always. "I told her it wasn't your fault." Draco glared at her.  
  
"You shouldn't lie to the girl Kylie," she looked as if she wanted to protest, but of course she  
stopped, clamping her mouth shut.  
  
"Is her trunk here?" Draco asked, the girl nodded.  
  
"I had it brought to the drawing room beside the bedroom." Kylie fidgeted for a moment with the  
shirt.  
  
"The elves are preparing breakfast, it should be ready within the half hour." She said finally.  
Draco nodded again.  
  
"I'll see her now," he looked at the girl. "Busy yourself with something." Kylie nodded and  
scurried off. Draco let out a sigh as he watched her go.  
  
Kylie had been there for as long as he could remember, no older then he, yet always present,  
wise beyond her years. She had hidden in shadows, forever in the background. A gift to his  
father from hers, a live servant of human flesh and blood, who would grow to be a well-endowed  
beautiful girl to have around, if her genes were any indication. And Lucius had been no kinder to  
her then anyone else. She was bound to the man as Draco was, although hers was a different sort  
of binding. He had long suspected that his father used Kylie in ways he didn't want to even  
imagination. She was a sweet-natured person, and very beautiful as they had always known she  
would become. And she certainly didn't deserve that. No one did.  
  
He took in a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He had to face Hermione  
sooner or later. And Malfoy's were no cowards, only when it served them to be.  
  
Hermione heard the door open but didn't look up, too absorbed was she in her tears, they dripped  
onto the marble floor as she sobbed."Hermione?" The voice was familiar, and tentative, but it sparked a rage in her she'd never felt  
the likes of before. Hermione didn't think, she acted.  
  
She flew off the ground, launching herself at the boy, who cried out in surprise. Trying to back  
away but failing.  
  
"YOU BASTARD," she had sent them both sprawling to the ground, his arms trying to fend off  
her small fisted attacks. "WHY. WHY DID YOU DO THIS?" She was screaming at him, her  
voice shrill even to her own ears, a bit hysterical.  
  
"I HAD TO," he was yelling back, trying to dodge the tiny blows to his chest, to his head,  
wherever she could reach.  
  
"HOW COULD YOU," the girl continued to scream at him. Hermione fell backwards as he  
managed to push her off, another sob overtaking her. "I actually trusted you."  
  
"I know," he said softly. Draco picked himself up off the ground. "I said I was sorry."  
  
"Well, sorry is not bloody good enough is it?" The girl snapped, drawing her knees to her chest.  
"Why?" It was a question she would be asking a lot lately.  
  
"I don't know," he said truthfully, sitting up completely. He looked at the girl sitting across from  
him, her knees drawn to her chest, her face red and streaked with tears. She was shaking.  
  
"Why did you do it then?" She snapped.  
  
"I had to," he snapped right back. For God's sake he had said he was sorry. What more did she  
want from him?  
  
"Liar," she hissed, the word somehow wrong coming from such an innocent mouth, despite the circumstances.  
  
"All right," Draco stood up.   
  
"Let me go," Hermione stood up as well, facing him. "Let me out of here."  
  
"I can't," he glared at her. "There IS no way out."  
  
"Don't LIE TO ME," she clenched her fists. Draco had had about enough.  
  
"I'M NOT LYING," he roared. The girl reared back, almost stumbling as she did so. "There's no  
way out of here, for either of us." He snapped. "I'm just as much a prisoner as you so bloody well  
get over it." He ran a hand across his face, sighing.  
  
"Why should I believe you?" She hissed, she could barely think from the pain in her head, from  
the pain in her heart as she stared a boy that until a night ago she had thought changed.  
  
"Believe what you want," Draco said shortly. "You can try to escape but it's no use." He sighed.He ran a hand across his face, guilt taking over his formerly enraged features. "I really am  
sorry, Hermione."  
  
"Don't call me that," she was being a bit melodramatic she realized, but really what did he expect  
her to do?  
  
"Don't call you your name?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. I really am sorry Granger."  
  
"What does your father want with me?" She asked, plopping onto the mattress. "Why did you do  
this?"  
  
"I don't know," Draco repeated, a bit more forcefully then necessary but she could hear his  
distress, his guilt. It warmed her a bit, but not much. "And I didn't do anything I wanted to." He  
said shortly.  
  
"How can you know NOTHING? How can everyone in this stupid place know nothing?" Hermione  
asked, drawing her knees to her chest once more.  
  
"By not being told ANYTHING," Draco took in a shuddering breath, trying to get himself under  
control. "Breakfast will be served shortly. If you want to eat I suggest you come."   
  
"I'm not hungry," Hermione bit out.  
  
"Suit yourself," he growled. "I've already apologized. I don't know what more you want me to  
do."  
  
"Get out." Draco nodded, and did just that, slamming the door behind him as Kylie had done  
earlier. Hermione felt a sob rise in her chest again, and she fell back onto the bed, curling into a  
little ball. She prayed it was all just a dream, a horrible dream she would weak up from.  
  
But the pain in her head told her that it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.  
  
Kylie pushed open the door carefully, peeking her head inside, wincing slightly from the pain.  
The girl, Hermione was her name apparently, was asleep on the bed, but it was not a peaceful  
sort of sleep. She tossed and turned in the large bed, the blankets lying useless on the floor, her  
pretty dress wrinkled and tangled around her as she cried out. Cried out for people who would  
not come, asked for help she would not receive.  
  
Kylie sighed and entered the room, a tray in hand. The girl had to eat something, and while  
Draco had made it clear that if she would not eat in the dining hall at meal time she would not  
eat at all, Kylie could not help preparing the tray. No matter how much it hurt.  
  
The pain in her arm almost caused her to drop the tray in her hands, but she clenched her teeth,  
crossing the room swiftly. She had always been a strong girl, and while this was almost  
unbearable she was lost either way. The sooner she set it down the better off she would be.  
These little rebellions were liberating but painful nonetheless, and sometimes you had no choice.  
You could follow one set of orders or another.  
  
She set the tray on the nightstand, and almost gasped in relief as the pain in her arm subsided to  
a dull throb.   
  
Leaning over the girl she touched her shoulder, startling her awake.  
  
"I bring you food, my lady," Kylie helped lift Hermione into a sitting position.  
  
"I'm not hungry," the girl murmured.  
  
"You must eat," Kylie said firmly.  
  
"I don't want anything," Hermione repeated. Kylie sighed, pushing off the mattress, releasing the  
girl.  
  
"You're a mite more difficult then I'm used to," Kylie said, looking at the tray of soup and bread  
she had prepared and gone through so much pain for. "But then you're not like my former lady at  
all I expect." Kylie looked to a chair. "May I sit?" Hermione nodded, pulling her knees to her  
chest again, eyeing the girl.  
  
"Did he send you?" She asked. Kylie shook her head eyes wide.  
  
"Master Draco told me not to bring you the food," Kylie said. She rubbed her arm, absently. "But  
you have to keep your strength up mistress."  
  
"For what?" Hermione said hollowly. Kylie just stared at her. "They're just going to kill me."  
Hermione went on. Kylie shook her head.  
  
"Do you think they'd go to the trouble to bring ye here if they were just going to kill ye?" Kylie  
said and stood up again, her accent growing deeper with her indignation.   
  
"Then why am I here?"  
  
"I know not," the girl said. "But my Master's father doesn't do anything without a reason. I've  
learned that much in my time with them."  
  
"How long have you been..."with them"," Hermione asked.  
  
"I was presented to my Master's father when I reached my fifth year," Kylie said. "When I  
reached my seventh I was given to Master Draco and his mother."   
  
"Given?" Kylie nodded.  
  
"I have served Master Draco since he was a boy," the girl smiled faintly. "Since I was a wee girl  
myself."  
  
"So you're a servant here," Hermione said dully. "Is that why they want me?" Kylie shook her  
head wide eyed.  
  
"Of course not my lady," Kylie smiled at the girl's ignorance. "I doubt my Master would have  
sent you such things if you were to be a mere servant."  
  
"Then WHY am I HERE?" Hermione repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. Kylie  
looked exasperated.  
  
"I cannot tell you what I do not know!" Kylie motioned to the door by the wardrobe. She calmed  
a bit before speaking. "I have brought your things up. My Master sent them over yesterday while  
you slept."  
  
"My things," a spark of hope entered Hermione's chest and she shot off the bed.  
  
"You'll not find your wand in there, my lady," Kylie said softly reading the girl's mind, stopping  
Hermione in her tracks. The spark of hope going out completely. "Nor your books." Kylie's voice  
was a bit wistful now, as if she herself would have liked the books. "Master Lucius took them  
out before he sent me with them."  
  
"Where are they?"  
  
"At the Malfoy Manor I expect," Kylie shrugged, busying herself by straightening the bed now that  
Hermione had vacated it finally. Sometimes her work could be very comforting in its  
tediousness. "That's a better question for Master Draco."

She could see Hermione's face twist into a look of utter loathing at the mention of the boy's name, and Kylie sighed again. The girl, for all her years at the school Draco attended, was certainly not very bright. She was missing  
everything of importance, seeing only what she wanted to.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye Kylie watched Hermione edge toward the nightstand, and the tray  
and she almost smiled. So the girl was hungry after all. Kylie continued to smooth out the  
wrinkles on the moth eaten duvet, wondering how a family like the Malfoy's had let such a place  
fall into such disrepair. Hermione sat in the armchair Kylie had occupied moments before,  
pulling the tray towards herself. Kylie began fluffing the pillows, dust rising from them in huge  
clouds. She heard Hermione gasp behind her and whirled around, startled.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Your arm," Hermione shot up from her seat, ignoring the tray and the food on it. She crossed  
the distance in two strides and wrenched up Kylie's arm. She pushed back the sleeve of her  
blouse, which had fallen away briefly moments before, to reveal the black twisted mark on it,  
and the red blotched flesh around it. Kylie snatched her arm away.  
  
"What of it?" She asked.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"It's the mark of my servitude," Kyle said. She pulled the sleeve down once more.  
  
"It looks awful." And it did indeed, red and raw, the white skin almost maroon.  
  
"It was bringing you the food," Kylie said shrugging, she rubbed her palm on one of her many  
skirts. Hermione stared at her, taking in the full implications of what she was saying.  
  
"I did that to you?" Hermione reached out again, grabbing her arm and ignoring Kylie's protest.  
The girl tried to yank her arm away again, but Hermione's grip was firm. Her concern instilled in her a strength she didn't possess otherwise.  
  
The black mark on the Kylie's arm was a thing of beauty; a horrible beauty but a beauty  
nonetheless. It was all curving lines and intricate patterns, marring the smooth white flesh of her  
underarm, barely longer then the palm of Hermione's hand, but huge against the small forearm.   
  
"You're...you're supposed to...serve me correct?" The girl nodded.  
  
"That is my Master's wish."  
  
"Which Master?" Hermione asked.  
  
"It was Lucius who gave the order. But I am Draco's otherwise." The girl said, and her face  
showed no love for the man, Lucius, but adoration for the boy. She obviously hated Lucius with  
the same passion Hermione did, but on the issue of Draco they differed substantially. Just how  
much they differed Kylie would not betray on her face.  
  
"He told you to serve me?" Hermione was confused. Why would Lucius care about her?  
  
"He said I was to keep you well," the girl said. "Keep you strong."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I know not." And Hermione knew, from the expression on her face the girl couldn't lie to her,  
not directly anyway. She could evade all she wanted to, change the subject perhaps, but she  
couldn't lie. By telling Kylie to serve her Lucius had bound the girl in the same way Kylie was  
bound to him. Kylie could not lie to Lucius therefore she could not lie to Hermione. It was a  
small comfort at least, having someone truthful around.  
  
"Please," Hermione sad. "Sit." And she motioned to the bed. The girl complied, eyes wary. "I  
have questions."  
  
"I have no answers." The girl tried to rise, but Hermione had told her to sit, and the pain in her  
arm kept her sitting there. She had seen enough pain that day defying Draco. The conflicting  
orders were enough to drive her insane. Lucius wanted her to keep Hermione's strength up,  
Draco was okay with letting Hermione starve for her stubbornness, and Hermione would not let  
her leave, she thought she would go mad.  
  
"I'm sure you do," at least Hermione was gentle. She was nice even. Narcissa was a nice mistress  
as well, but then, she was not aware that Kylie was there half the time. She was stuck in her own  
little world, one Kylie wished she could see. It was better then this one she was sure.   
  
"Why are you their servant?" Hermione asked. Kylie sighed, fighting with herself. But answering  
the girl's questions was not such a burden, it was not answering it.  
  
"My father owed Master Lucius a great deal," the girl said. "I was his gift to help repay it."  
  
"Then you are a witch?" Hermione said and Kylie nodded.  
  
"I have been stripped of my powers, however." She amended quickly, seeing the spark of hope in  
Hermione' s eyes once again. It was actually nice having someone to confide in. Draco, however  
good and kind he was to her, was cold and distant, treating her as the servant she was, if not  
taking pity on her at times.  
  
"And you are a pureblood," Hermione said. Kylie nodded again. "Your family is wealthy?" Kylie  
shrugged.  
  
"I remember they were," she said. "But Master Lucius took a great deal from them."  
  
"What..." Hermione looked at the mark again, the girl's arm still in her grasp. "What exactly is  
this mark?"  
  
"It is a mark of my servitude, as I said before." Kylie said slowly.

"I understand that," Hermione said patiently. "Do you know what it IS though? Which spell he  
used?" Kylie shook her head.  
  
"Master Lucius gave it to me when I was sent to him."  
  
"And it hurts if you break an order?" The girl nodded. "Badly?" Hermione asked. Kylie's nods  
were so insistent Hermione was afraid she was going to pull something in her neck.  
  
"It burns something fierce," Kylie said softly.  
  
"Oh," Hermione looked at the tray, guilt flooding her. "Then it must have taken a lot for you to  
bring that to me." Kylie nodded, eyes wide.  
  
"Master Lucius's orders are stronger then Master Draco's," the girl said. "So it wasn't as bad as it  
could have been." Hermione nodded.  
  
"Do they treat you well?" The girl's eyes were wary.  
  
"Please," she said softly. "Do not make me answer such a question."  
  
"All right you don't have to."  
  
"I can't speak actual ill of them, you understand," Kylie amended quickly. "It's part of my  
burden." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sometimes it hurts to even think ill of them."  
  
"That's horrible." Hermione ran a finger along the girl's arm. Kylie just looked at her.  
  
"Master Draco is kind to me," she said softly after a moment. "He treats me like a person. He  
gives me his school books when he comes home. He taught me to read."  
  
"Well, his House-Elf relations still leave something to be desired," Hermione remarked dryly and  
Kylie smiled.  
  
"Ahh, but house elves are not people," Kylie reminded her, and Hermione, filled with righteous  
indignation over her long-lost cause, forced herself to keep from replying.  
  
"He taught you to read?" Hermione focused for the first time on what Kylie had said. Kylie  
nodded, her eyes going from pained and wary to bright.  
  
"When I was 11." She puffed her rather expansive chest out proudly. "He said I'm very talented  
at it. It's not so hard." Kylie looked a little wistful. "Master Lucius does not approve, however."  
She bit her lip. "He told me I was not to fill my head with such nonsense." Hermione wanted to  
hug the girl, who looked on the verge of tears, but she had never been very affectionate, and she  
barely knew this girl. "He said I needed to know my place."  
  
"But Draco lets you read?" Kylie nodded, smiling.  
  
"When he tells me I'm allowed it dulls the pain," Kylie stood up, shaking her head, her auburn  
hair tossing about her. "I have said too much."  
  
"No," Hermione smiled up at the girl, rising with her. "You've been very helpful. I appreciate  
your honesty."  
  
"It's not as if I had a choice," she muttered and then pointed to the food. "Will you eat then?"  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
"You went to all the trouble to bring it to me." She looked at the steaming soup and bread. "It  
looks very good. Thank you Kylie." Kylie's heart swelled at the words, one of few thankyou's in  
her life.  
  
"He will kill me if he finds out I disobeyed him." Kylie said. Hermione looked up startled.  
  
"What?" Kylie shook her head, giving a nervous laugh.  
  
"Not really my lady," Kylie gave a small smile. "Just an expression."  
  
It was a twisted version of the Knights of the Round Table, one full of blood and evil intentions.  
  
The table itself was in fact round, but there was no justice and honor to it. The thirteen men  
around it were not noble knights concerned with chivalry and the ways of the good.  
They wore not the helms of proud silver and shining virtue, but masks, marked with the face of  
evil.  
  
The table was dull silver, no light reflected off its surface except that of the green flame at its  
center. It danced and flickered, making the images of death and corruption engraved on the  
surface act out their misdeeds in a display of stunningly cruelty.  
  
At the tables head was the only unmasked one in the gathering, his face impassive, ugly, and  
marred from years of toil, of sacrifice. A face reminiscent of the serpents he loved so much. His  
eyes were cold yellow, flashing with something so horrible and frightening it made even his  
closest supporters cringe to look him in the eye. The shied way from his visage, the scarred and  
twisted face was enough to make anyone nauseous. But they did not love him for his looks. They  
loved him for his power. He was Voldemort, formerly Tom Riddle. Most recently He Who Must  
Not be Named. And that was the kind of fear he commanded, the respect he felt he deserved.  
  
"Bring her to me," He raised a hand, and the man to his right, his mask firmly in place, white  
blonde hair visible even under the hood of his cloak, nodded and stood.

"Send her in." Lucius spoke into the flickering green flames, and not a moment passed before the  
doors to the room swept open.  
  
The woman was screaming, clawing at her captors, struggling against them. She twisted in their  
grasp, trying to wrench herself free, her face unmarked, but her eyes were wild. They were  
fearful, and that was the way he liked them.

"I expected better of you Lucius," Voldemort murmured, his yellow eyes darkening at the sight  
of her. "She is not as obedient as you claimed her to be." In fact the woman was fighting so hard  
it looked for a moment as if she would be freed.  
  
The faces of the two young men at her side were wary, barely 18 years of age, and they were  
usually strong young lads, until the moment it meant the most. They had scratches up and down  
their arms, their faces bloody from the woman's work. There was a certain shame to being so  
marked and obviously abused by a woman of such a slight stature, especially in the face of their  
master.  
  
"But she is a beauty," Voldemort stood. "Leave us." Eleven of the 12 men stood, bowing low  
before their master, they cast not a look to the struggling woman. None raised a hand to defend  
her, none rushed to her aide. Not even her husband. He remained by Voldemort's side, under his  
mask lie another, this one just as impassive and inherently evil as the first. Lucius Malfoy had  
always been a man of little emotion, especially when it came to his wife.  
  
"Bring her to me," that was easier said then done. The woman in question, the beautiful and  
usually docile Narcissa Malfoy renewed her struggles. She yanked and clawed with razor sharp  
nails, digging them into flesh, drawing blood. She screamed and fought against them, but still  
they pulled her towards him.  
  
"Don't let them do this," she looked to her husband, the blood from those holding her spotting  
her white dress with dark red, her wedding dress. "Please. Don't let him do this Lucius."  
  
The man she had pledged her life too, given her mind to responded by lifting his wand, his hand  
steady.  
  
"Imperio." The hands released her, and she fell to the floor in a heap of blonde hair and  
bloodsplattered white. "You fools." He snapped. "Leave us." The two boys, the newest in a series  
of recent acquisitions into the fold bowed low to their master and scurried out.  
  
"Get up," Lucius crossed the stone floor to the heap that was his wife. She stood, her back  
straight, her eyes dead, but there was just the barest trace of a tremble in her lip, the smallest  
chance she would collapse again. But she stood.  
  
"She is lovely," Voldemort smiled, and never was their one more horrible. He crossed over to  
her, circling the woman. His hand snaked out, touching the top of the gown, running a cold  
finger across her chest, up to her throat. He circled her, his eyes raking her body. "She'll do  
nicely Lucius."   
  
"Of course my lord," Lucius nodded. "There still is that small issue. But I have a solution for  
both our problems."  
  
"Oh?" Voldemort yanked his eyes away from the woman. "I'm impressed Lucius." He flashed the  
man one of those awful smiles. "You will be greatly rewarded. For all of it."  
  
Voldemort reached into the sleeve of his cloak, and drew out of it a dagger. It was beautiful, all  
shining ornate silver, a snake creeping up its hilt, emerald eyes flashing in the green light from  
the table's flames.  
  
"Would you like to do the honors?" He handed the blade to Lucius, who took it, stepping towards  
his wife.  
  
"Of course my lord." Lucius raised the dagger and brought it down. The fabric ripped, and he  
continued to pull it down, slicing the silk easily, narrowly missing the white milky flesh that lay  
just beneath it.  
  
Narcissa sucked in a breath, her mind crying out against this, even as the dress pooled at her feet.  
Voldemort smiled again.  
  
"She is lovely indeed." He looked to Lucius. "You can return for her in the morning Lucius." The  
smile turned to a leer. "Everything will be in order then."  
  
Lucius Malfoy nodded, bowing to his Master, not casting a second glance at the woman he had  
pledged as his wife, and strode from the room.  
  
Draco had been staring at whiteness all day. Just to rid himself of the black. It was everywhere  
here, in the walls, in the floor, in the furniture. It was all consuming blackness, sucking  
everything good about the world into it. So he had gone to the window, to look at the endless  
world of white stretching out for miles and miles to the gently rising peak of the mountain that  
lay just beyond.  
  
It was his only comfort, his only source of purity. But there was no warmth in snow, and as he  
shivered against the cold, watching the sun dip behind the mountain he knew there would be no  
warmth in the night.  
  
"Master Draco?" The whisper was feint, and he barely looked up to acknowledge the form of  
Kylie, slinking into the room.  
  
"What?" He continued to stare out at the snow, he couldn't even reach out and touch it. He could  
only look. It seemed that was the way with a lot of things.  
  
"It is my mistress-" he looked up then, startled.  
  
"What happened? Is she all right?" Kylie nodded, her eyes wide, more then a little meek now.  
  
This Draco was different then the boy she knew. He was tense and harder then she remembered,  
and he had stood there looking at nothing for hours. She had checked, walking back and forth  
past the room, glancing at him. And he hadn't moved, merely stood there staring out at the  
blanket of white just beyond.  
  
"She is fine," Kylie said reassuringly. "She is Master." Kylie made a show of rubbing  
her arms. "It is freezing here."  
  
"I know." There was never warmth at the aptly named Winter Palace, regardless of the season.  
There was just cold, and colder, and snow, lots of snow. A black obelisk on a field of white was  
what he imagined it must look like from the outside. Not that he would ever see it.  
  
"The blankets..." Kylie drew in a breath. "They are thin and full of holes." Kylie shook her head.

"She does not complain. But she is near blue Master, and she shivers so violently. Even in her  
sleep." Draco nodded. "I gave her my own blankets." Kylie said quickly, should he think she had  
been neglecting her duty. "But still she shivers." Draco nodded again.  
  
"Alright." He crossed the marble floor, ripping the blanket off his own, smaller bed and balled  
them up against his chest. "Are there any more bedrooms?" He himself had never ventured  
farther then this wing.  
  
"No my lord," Kylie ducked her head. "I'm-I'm sorry I got a bit curious and I was wandering  
about. There are bedrooms but they are not made up."  
  
"It's fine," Draco said tersely. He went to the door. "What will you sleep in?" He looked over his  
shoulder to the girl.  
  
"I have more skirts then I know what to do with my lord," she gave him a sheepish smile. "I am  
used to the cold." That was certainly true. Malfoy Manor wasn't the warmest place on earth. He  
nodded. "If you would like me to remove the drapes-" he left the statement unfinished, and  
turned before Kylie could acknowledge it. She couldn't have if she wanted to. Her heart swelled  
again at his kindness.  
  
Hermione was curled in a small ball on the large bed, barely making a dent in the firm mattress,  
and spread around her was an assortment of mismatched moth eaten blankets, and still she  
shivered. The blankets were paper thin, almost see through, and he could make out the white of  
her gown beneath them despite the number. Kylie had fetched everything she could to warm the  
girl, she'd even managed to get a table cloth to drape over her.  
  
Draco looked down at the girl in the bed. It seemed there was something pure to look at besides  
the snow. There was at least one light in this place. He unraveled the ball of blanket in his arms  
and draped it over her, the air causing her hair to flutter against her cheek.  
  
He froze as she blinked, opening her eyes.  
  
"What are you doing here?" She murmured, but she didn't rise, she just pulled the blankets  
around her further. "How can you stand this cold?" Draco didn't reply, he just wordlessly reached  
up. The clasp fell away easily, and he swung his cloak around."What about you?" Hermione asked sleepily.

"I'll manage." He whispered. "Sleep." And then he draped it over her. Hermione said nothing  
else, just closed her eyes.  
  
Somewhere they had formed a truce, from one prisoner to another. And Draco had a feeling he  
had Kylie to thank as his ambassador.  
  
Hermione awakened the next morning to Kylie's insistent rocking and murmurings of the usual  
morning drivel.

"Please mistress, the day grows late," was Hermione's favorite thus far, and the begging lilting  
tones were more soothing then anything. There was something so comforting about the Irish.  
Hermione groaned, pulling the blankets closer around her, a dull throbbing making itself known  
at the top of her skull. Hermione moaned, reaching a hand up to touch it. She hissed as the  
throbbing turned to a burn and snatched her hand away.

"You wouldn't-" Hermione moaned. "By any chance have some aspirin." Kylie looked confused,  
but if she cared she didn't show it, she merely put her arm around Hermione's back, lifting the  
girl to a sitting position.

"We must get you dressed mistress," Kylie admonished. "Breakfast is soon."

"I don't want food," Hermione moaned, trying to fall back into the bed. Her head was killing her,  
a sensation like nails being driven into her skull the only really clear thing in her mind. She had hit it very hard the previous day and it was catching up with her now.

"But you must eat," Kylie was using all her weight now to lift Hermione into a standing position.  
"My lady must be strong." Kylie pushed the half-asleep, and very achy girl over to the wardrobe,  
to stand before the mirror. "Please don't make me bring you another tray." Kylie said sadly,  
looking away.

"All hail Queen of the Guilt Trip," Hermione muttered, and reached up, rubbing her eyes. She  
was strangely calm this morning. All thoughts of imminent death had been cast away by logic.  
Surely, if Lucius intended to kill her he wouldn't have given her a live human servant to do her  
bidding, he wouldn't have sent over a mass of beautiful silk gowns for her to wear. And if he had  
intended to kill her, or rather, have Draco do it, since he was such a faithful lackey it seemed, he  
would have gone and done it. Hermione had always loved logic."I have been on no trips," Kylie was saying wistfully, drawing out a gown of deepest crimson.

"Why did Draco's mother give me her clothes?" Hermione asked, still a bit uncomfortable with  
the veritable stranger undressing her bit. 

"She has no need for them," Kylie said, and her voice was a bit sad as she undid the laces of the  
now rather dirty white gown Hermione had worn the previous day.

"There must be fifty dresses in there," Hermione cast an eye to the wardrobe. "They must be  
fantastically wealthy." The dresses themselves were no doubt very expensive, made of the finest  
in fabrics, and probably hand-tailored for only Narcissa Malfoy, who it seemed was a bit taller  
then Hermione, and a might bit skinnier.

"My mistress wears but one dress if she can help it."

"Well, one a day is standard practice," Hermione looked to the girl's strange medieval type garb. "Not one a year."

"I do not mean she wears one a day," Kylie admonished, pulling on the back laces of  
the dress a bit too harshly. "I mean she only wears ONE dress." Kylie looked a bit wistful again,  
her expression far away in the mirror as she tightened the strings. "It is tragically romantic."

"And not a bit gross," Hermione said cheerfully, shaking her head. Kylie almost glared at the  
girl, but stopped herself, finishing her lacing with a flourish. "Why is it so "tragically  
romantic"?"

"It is the dress she was wed in of course," Kylie turned the girl around, a brush Hermione hadn't  
seen before in her hand.

"And she wears it everyday?" That was a very morbid thought. And not in the least bit romantic  
as far as Hermione was concerned. Actually it was more then its fair share of creepy.

"I have never seen her without it on a normal day."

"Define Normal in Malfoy terms," Hermione said dryly, wincing as the brush rather briskly  
swept her hair up.

"A day without somewhere to be," Kylie said patiently, she let the hair drop. "There is nothing I  
can do." She said gravely, picking up a curly lock. "I have only this brush."  
"It's all right," Hermione said.

"You will join him for breakfast then?" The look on Kylie's face could only be described as  
jubilant and hopeful, like a child at Christmas. Hermione sighed.

"If I must." Hermione didn't want the poor girl to have to suffer any more pain then was  
necessary. And she did want to eat.

"He will not order you," Kylie said sternly. "And he will not ask you."

"Yeah, he sends servants for that," Hermione said bitterly. Kylie just nodded, finally glad the girl  
was understanding.

"Come my lady," and with that Hermione resigned herself to her fate. A meal with the person  
she hated most.  
  
Lucius swept into the room, the woman in it made no noise, did not stir, she just continued her  
business.  
  
Narcissa Malfoy had never been the strongest woman, and years of marriage, of slaving, of  
being mentally battered and abused had taken their toll on her.  
  
And then there were the visions.  
  
But now, as she lay there on the cold stone floor, her dress forgotten across the room, she was  
more far gone then ever. Her eyes were completely lifeless, and as she stared at the gray stone  
she saw nothing.  
  
"It is done then," Lucius said. He bent to his wife, gathering the unclothed woman in his arms,  
noting the bruises on her fragile arms, the vicious red of a bite on her neck and he felt nothing.  
"You have made me very proud Narcissa." He began carrying her out of the room.  
  
"You have sacrificed much to Our Lord." He continued, his boots echoing off the walls as he  
continued down the corridor. The woman in his arms didn't respond, merely lay limp, unseeing  
eyes staring upwards. Lucius smiled to no one.  
  
"And for that, I will be greatly rewarded."


	4. Future's Face

And We Have Sinned  
Chapter Four: Future's Faces  
Author: Dizzy  
  
Hermione almost couldn't make him out, hidden in the shadows as he was. They seemed to suit  
him, the shadows, they fit around him, caressing his cheeks and masking his eyes, hiding him  
from the world. And while this should have scared her, it didn't.  
  
Kylie bowed low upon presenting Hermione to him, and then backed out the large oak doors,  
back into the hallway.  
  
Hermione could only stand there, clutching with sweaty hands at the skirt of her gown, her eyes trained on  
the floor.  
  
"So you decided to join me?" Draco's voice was hard, and he didn't move from his spot by the  
window.  
  
"Yes," Hermione said softly. "I didn't want to starve." Draco didn't respond, merely pushed  
himself away.  
  
"Then by all means don't," he plopped into a seat at the head, his feet finding a rest spot on the  
chair diagonal too him, spread out and luxurious. Completely informal.  
  
So Hermione cross the room, and sat on the seat to his left. Breakfast it seemed consisted of the  
same creamy soup of the previous day, and a few more slices of the crispy bread. This time  
however it was accompanied by wine, tall flutes full of the blood red liquid.  
  
"Have you heard from your father?" Hermione asked, dipping the bread into the soup. Draco  
didn't touch the food, he merely picked up the wine glass, swirling it a bit.  
  
He didn't answer. He took a long swig, not exactly the aristocratic gesture she would  
have imagined, but graceful nonetheless. Apparently no conversation was going to be had this  
morning, and that suited Hermione just fine.  
  
She took a small bite of the bread, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she ate. He  
didn't glance at her, merely kept looking out the window, absently taking a sip of his wine now  
and again, till the glass was drained, and her bread was gone. He refilled it, and she picked up  
her spoon.  
  
It was possibly the most awkward breakfast Hermione had ever sat through, but strangely  
domestic in nature. Draco took another sip.  
  
"It's a little early to be drinking isn't it?" She turned her attention on him, casting a derisive  
glance to the wine glass. He didn't respond, just took another sip. Hermione sighed, her spoon  
falling into the bowl with a wet plop.  
  
"Why do you care?" Draco asked, just as she made to stand up.  
  
"I don't."  
  
"Then why try to make conversation?" He took another sip, and Hermione shrugged.  
  
"I thought about what you said," Hermione said. She didn't mention Kylie's information. She  
didn't want the girl to get in trouble on account of her. "And I guess your right."  
  
"About?"  
  
"We're both prisoner's here," she looked at him. "And I guess it's worse for you." At that Draco  
raised his eyebrow at her, and took another sip.  
  
"How's that again?"  
  
"Cause you're his son." She turned, and walked towards the door. Draco stared after her for a  
minute, and took yet another sip.   
  
Lucius could hear her screaming all the way on the other side of the wing. They were pained and  
frightened screams, and were accompanied by the occasional shattering of glass. He closed his eyes.  
  
He couldn't take much more of this. She could ruin everything with the visions of hers. They  
made her weak, pained her beyond imagination, and they had long ago taken her sanity. And  
now they could ruin everything.  
  
If the man across him was bothered he showed no sign of it, just merely continued to smile in a  
self-satisfied way. Even Lucius was terrified by the smile, but he had long ago gotten used to it.   
  
Voldemort sat across from him, fingers steepled, smiling that smile.  
  
"Everything is going perfectly Lucius." The smile grew more terrifying if possible. But Lucius  
remained stone-faced. "I must say I'm very impressed."  
  
"I do only what you wish Master," Lucius bowed his head respectfully.  
  
"Of course you do." Voldemort stood. "But these visions of hers are becoming a bit of a problem.  
Wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"They are," Lucius nodded. "But I have a solution for that." Voldemort lifted his hood.  
  
"There isn't much time Lucius," he said. "I'd employ it, and soon. If my calculations are correct it  
will only be a matter of weeks." Lucius nodded.  
  
"I will see to it My Lord."  
  
"See that you do." And with that the man disappeared in a thick cloud of black swirling smoke.  
Lucius smirked, standing. He had a solution all right. It was just a matter of time.  
  
Draco really didn't know why he was going. But his feet seemed to have a mind of their own,  
and he could only listen to the clack of boots on marble as they made their way down the  
hallway, toward her room.   
  
Kylie had discovered it this morning, her explorations of the palace had been fruitful in a  
completely useless way it seemed. And he had let her have free reign for the rest of the day.  
  
He had debated with himself for an hour before he finally felt his feet start their journey. He had  
thought to let Kylie tell her, but Kylie would be occupied for a long time it seemed, and he  
doubted she'd get to it before morning. And he wanted Hermione to know now.   
  
Perhaps it was the guilt he felt over what he had done. Perhaps it was concern over her mental  
state, but whatever it was it had led him to this. He stood outside the large oak of the door a  
moment before he raised a fist.  
  
His knock was short and terse, and he almost fled in the other direction. But he was no coward.  
And it was just a nice gesture, not a military operation.   
  
The door opened after a few moments and Hermione's face appeared, confused, and a bit  
frightened.  
  
"What's wrong?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. Had Lucius sent for her? Was it  
time? A thousand possibilities for his appearance at "her" room flew through her head.  
  
"I have something to show you," Draco bit out.  
  
Before she could respond he had grabbed her arm and was jerking her down the hallway. And  
she didn't even protest this time. She was actually getting used to his commanding ways, she was  
actually getting used to be dragged around like some dog with an impatient master. But she was  
also curious.  
  
The Winter Palace was huge. It was all twisting corridors and an endless amount of rooms, most  
bare. There were stairs that seemed to lead nowhere, and doorways that opened to reveal wall. It  
was a place with no regard to architecture or design, just horrifying oddness. Hermione had  
ventured no father then her room, the dining room and the small bath that Kylie had shown her,  
which came with several rather pleasurable amenities. Like a razor for one, which had been  
useful, and might, if times got even more desperate, prove even more so.  
  
She had no idea where they were going, but it was good 5 minute walk around and around in  
what seemed like circles. Circles that seemed as if they would go on forever until he stopped abruptly in front of huge oak doors that seemed to  
stretch up into the darkness of the ceiling.  
  
"Is this it?" Hermione asked. Draco gave a nod, and twisted the silver knob in the middle of the  
door.  
  
It swung open. And Hermione gasped.  
  
Along the walls were impossibly high windows, black silk curtains hung down them and bright  
white light shone through, casting the room into brightness.  
  
There was a black sofa on the lower portion of it, in front of that, what looked to be a coffee  
table, and further beyond, was a desk and a chair. But that's not what she was interested it.  
  
Three steps led to a higher raised portion, and along the entire expanse of it was row upon row  
of bookshelves, filled with novels. A hand went to her mouth as she took them all in.  
  
It was larger then even the Hogwarts Library, three times so, and she knew there were volumes  
within its confines that no other library in the world would carry.  
  
Draco watched her, for the first time her face cracked into a smile, and the light that had been so  
much apart of who she was reentered her eyes. He almost smiled, but refrained, rubbing a hand  
unconsciously on his cloak.  
  
"I thought you'd enjoy something to do," he said finally. "Kylie found it."  
  
"It's wonderful," Hermione crossed the room, practically sprinting to the shelves. Her face full of  
a love and appreciation he couldn't fathom. Her hands skimmed the air just before the spines of  
the novels, as if touching them would break the illusion.  
  
There was everything here, from muggle classics, to the Dark Arts, and she even saw a few of  
her Hogwart's texts. They were all old, and more then a little dusty, untouched for years, their  
spines weathered and peeling, the titles faded from age. She felt her heart lurch and she turned.   
  
"Thank you." She whispered. She saw the boy shift his weight from one leg to the other,  
shrugging.  
  
"Kylie found it," he repeated. He turned.  
  
"Where are you going?" She took a step forward.  
  
"My father has need of me," he said shortly. Hermione bit her lip.  
  
"Will you come back?" Draco nodded, his back still to her.  
  
"I'm not leaving," he said finally. "He's meeting me here." Hermione's breath caught, and her  
heart pounded in her chest. Lucius was coming here. The thought filled her with fear, and hatred  
for the man who had done this.  
  
"Will he...will he do anything?" Hermione let out the shaky breath. Draco shrugged and turned.  
  
"I can't keep telling you I don't know," Draco said. "It's tiring."  
  
"Can you at least tell me why you did it?"  
  
"I already did." He said tersely. "I had to."  
  
"Nobody HAS to do anything," Hermione's fear turned to anger. All thoughts of the beautiful  
books banished, all thoughts of Lucius pushed aside. Draco laughed, a bitter laugh. One full of  
contempt, whether it was directed to her or something else she didn't know.  
  
"If you believe that," Draco said finally, his eyes locking with hers. They were cold, and a little  
pitying. "Then you're not as smart as I gave you credit for." And then he turned, the door  
slamming behind him as he left.   
  
Lucius regarded his son with cold eyes, he sat across from him in the filthy study in the West  
Wing of the Palace, wondering how he had let the place fall into such disrepair. Wondered how  
he had let his son slip so far away from the original plan.  
  
Draco simply sat there, meeting his father's gaze, stubborn and defiant as ever. He said not a  
word as Lucius went on. Giving instructions, and he could feel the pain in his chest with each  
thought he directed at the man. It was almost enough to make him falter, make him flinch. And  
his hand was clenching the arm of the chair, knuckles white from wanting to reach up to it. But  
he didn't.  
  
"Two days," Lucius was saying. "And then you will bring her here." Lucius motioned to the  
room.  
  
"And if I don't?" Draco asked. He felt the sharp burst in his chest, and almost cried out, but  
remained stoic.  
  
"Then I will fetch her myself," Lucius stood. "I can't tell you how much you've disappointed me."  
  
"I can't tell you how much I don't care." Draco watched as his father crossed over to the hearth,  
withdrawing a small pouch from his pocket.  
  
"You will learn," Lucius's voice was hard. "That your defiance will fail you, and then where will you be?" He stepped into the hearth, and reached a hand into the pouch, touching one of the small glass orbs there. And then he was gone, leaving Draco alone in the room with his  
thoughts, and his pain.  
  
Draco had checked the library, hoping to find her there sitting at one of the tables. He had half  
expected her to be there, lost in the books she loved so much, twirling that one strand of hair just  
before her ear in that lazy habit she had. But she hadn't been there.  
  
Neither had Kylie. Although several volumes were obviously missing from the stacks he could  
see, big gaping holes in their place instead. But the girls were no where to be found.  
  
But he couldn't expect them to stay in there forever. He had sat for hours in the room, lost in his  
thoughts. He didn't want to subject the girl to anymore then she'd already been through, but it  
was unavoidable. He doubted Lucius would hurt her at their first initial meeting, but one could  
never be sure.  
  
He made his way down the corridors once more. He had decided, in his long session with  
himself, that he would tell her. She deserved to know, and he could give her what little  
information he had. He owed her that.  
  
Still, there was the apprehension, the knowledge that she would be less then pleased. In fact she  
would continue to hate him.  
  
Bringing her to Lucius was not in itself a horrible thing, and he had no idea why he felt such  
foreboding. Lucius had plans for her, big plans. Plans that could jeopardize everything the  
Malfoy's had worked so hard for. Draco had no idea what those plans were, but he knew they  
were important. Lucius had spent most of Draco's life trying to win back the family honor, he  
had slaved to restore the good name of the Malfoy's. He worked to regain power over the  
Ministry. And he was throwing it all away.  
  
He didn't bother to knock, he just burst into her room.  
  
She was perched primly on the chair by her bed, a book in hand. He almost smiled. She was  
wearing his cloak. Her own, rescued from the trunk she had dragged into the room, was draped  
across her lap. And just as he had thought, that one little curl was just as frazzled as ever. She  
had a nervous habit of twirling it around her finger when she read, something he had watched  
her do countless times.  
  
She started when the door burst open, the book tumbling from her hands, sliding across the  
velvet of her robe and landing open on the floor.  
  
"What's wrong?" she stood up abruptly, the cloak on her lap joining the book.  
  
"Nothing," he ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"Don't lie to me," there was an edge to her voice, one full of worry and anger. He could see the  
fear in her eyes, the wide-eyed expression on her face giving her away.  
  
"It's nothing really big," he amended. "Sit down."  
  
She did so, ignoring the blatant commanding tone. But she was not relaxed. She perched on the  
edge of the armchair, her hands running across the fabric of her dress in an effort to wipe her  
sweaty palms.  
  
"I spoke with my father today," he crossed the room to the bed, taking a seat on it, stretching his  
long legs out in front of him as if he had not a care in the world. But his expression was  
unreadable, a bad sign in the world of Draco Malfoy.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And, he wishes to meet with you in two days," as he expected her breath caught, and the fear in  
her eyes turned to terror. Lucius Malfoy would have been proud to know he could get such a  
reaction just at the mere mention of his presence.  
  
"Wh-Why?" Hermione was trying to remain calm. She had known to expect it sooner or later.  
Lucius would not have ordered his son to kidnap her if he didn't wish to do something with her at  
one point. Draco shrugged, cool and aloof.  
  
"I have no clue," his eyes locked with hers. "I don't think he'll hurt you though," his voice was  
soft, but far from comforting.  
  
"You do," Hermione stood up again. "You missed dinner. You were gone for HOURS," she  
snapped. She took a step towards him, her expression turning from fear to anger. "He had to  
have told you something."  
  
"The meeting with my father lasted only 15 minutes tops," Draco didn't move from his seat on  
the bed. Looking for all the world like they were discussing something mundane, even boring.  
Not her life.  
  
"And?"   
  
"And I told you-" Draco snapped. "-all he said is that he wishes to meet with you in two days."  
  
"And do what? Blood rituals? Sacrificing of goats?" she began to pace.  
  
"I can't keep repeating myself Granger," Draco sighed. "If you're not going to listen to the  
answers don't keep asking the questions."  
  
He rubbed a hand across his face. "I don't think he's going to hurt you."  
  
"Oh right," Hermione stopped her pacing to glare at him. "We'll just have some tea and a nice  
chat, is that right?"  
  
"It's just a meeting," Draco said, he stood up.  
  
He had gotten no indication from Lucius that it was anything other then just that. An assessment,  
a test to see if the girl would suit his purposes. And as much as Draco didn't want to bring her to  
him, he had too. He reached up unconsciously, his hand slipping into his robe, trying to ease the  
sharp stab of pain that had made itself known the minute he had even thought of NOT carrying  
out his father's orders.  
  
"Fine." Hermione went over to her chair. Sitting herself down in it. "Why didn't he take you back  
with him?" Draco shrugged.  
  
"I don't know," he whirled, crossing to the door in swift strides, going towards the door.  
  
He had told her. He'd done his good deed for the day. He didn't need to engage in meaningless  
conversation with her to boot. He had research to do, and Kylie's discovery of the library might  
just help him out in that regard.  
  
Hermione said nothing, she just sat there watching him leave. The possibilities of the meeting  
whirled through her head, none of them bright and cheery. Mostly they had to deal with blood  
and death. Hers. She felt her heart squeeze, knowing that if it came to that no one could save her.  
  
Ron and Harry thought she was away on holiday, opening presents with her parents and visiting  
relatives. They thought she was happy, not scared out of her mind.  
  
And Draco was not an option for a hero. He hated her, and on top of that he was so corrupted by  
his father he hadn't thought twice about stealing her away from her boring, but happy existence  
at Hogwarts. She wondered idly if her parents were even worried about her. Or had he taken care  
of that as well?  
  
Hermione brought her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on the tops of them, breathing  
deep. No, Draco was no hero. He was the villain.  
  
Every meal they shared was in silence. Three times a day they met, and ate in the tension filled  
dining room, awkward and cold. Although, Draco it seemed hardly did that much. He spooned  
up little bits of the soup that had become the only meal made at The Winter Palace, and let it fall  
back into the bowl untouched. Mostly he just drank his wine and stared off into space, lost in his  
own thoughts.  
  
They saw little of each other. Usually just brief glimpses in the library that had become a  
common ground for all three of the Palace's guest. Even Kylie was distant. If that was Draco's  
order or not Hermione was not sure, but the girl was not as friendly as she had been the first few  
days.  
  
Hermione had stolen into the library many times, and had caught the boy pouring over huge  
thick texts, lost in something she couldn't ask about. He flipped through pages, grunted in  
frustration, fueled by a fire he wouldn't elaborate on. So she didn't even try to ask. She just  
scanned the titles, grabbed a book and left. It was a horrible bit of circumstance.  
  
Not a word passed between them that wasn't laced with bitterness. It made the situation seem  
completely hopeless. And Hermione had lost herself to tears, alone in her room, the beautiful  
books her only company. She was sure she had never cried more then she did those next two  
days. More then even the first couple.  
  
But when Draco came to collect her on the third day, just as Kylie had finished running the brush  
through her hair, setting it back in the wardrobe, she suddenly stopped being sad, stopped being scared. His expression was grim, but a complete  
mystery to her.  
  
They said nothing, merely left her room and walked down the twisting corridors to Lucius.  
Hermione reflexively swallowed, trying to calm herself. Her nails dug into her palms, forming  
little half moons on the skin, but it was comforting. Unlike the statue who walked beside her.  
  
They stopped in front of a pair of huge oak doors, like the library's they stretched forever into the  
ceiling, past where he eyes could see in the darkness. He looked at her for a moment, and  
swallowed.  
  
"Don't be afraid," he said after a moment. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his.  
  
"Aren't you coming with me?" she whispered. He shook his head.  
  
"I'm just supposed to present you to him," he looked away. "Nothing more."  
  
For a brief second Hermione saw a flash of reluctance across his face, and some of the anger she  
had been feeling for the past few days faded. He couldn't help who he was, who his father was.  
And perhaps he was right, some people didn't have a choice. Like Kylie. Hermione reached out,  
her hand grasping his. She gave it a squeeze, and there was a brief pressure, as if he returned it.  
But then it was gone, his hand wrenching away, going instead to the handle of the door.  
  
Hermione took a breath, and followed him into the study.  
  
She had seen Lucius Malfoy many times, here and there. But she was struck by Draco's  
resemblance to his father. They shared the same aristocratic nose, the same hard planes and angles and high  
cheekbones. The same lack of discernible expression. But Draco was taller then his father, and  
not quite as lanky as the man before her. Draco was muscular and broad shouldered from years  
of Quidditch. This man was skinny and bony. He sat lazily in the chair, his legs stretched out  
before him in a way that was just like Draco's. He regarded her with cold, blue eyes, not even  
attempting to mask his loathing for her.  
  
His eyes swept up her body, a smirk forming on his lips as they raked her form. Hermione  
shivered under his gaze, it was so predatory. More of a leer then a gaze really. She felt Draco  
tense next to her.  
  
"Leave us." Lucius waved a hand to the door.  
  
At first Draco didn't move, and she looked at him. His face was twisted in an expression she had  
never seen on him before. Pain. His jaw was clenched so hard a muscle was ticking away in it  
and he took a step backwards. She wanted to reach out to him, to ask him what was wrong, but  
she couldn't. She knew that. Finally, he turned and opened the door, it was too much to take. He  
didn't even look at Hermione, that was a different kind of pain altogether.  
  
Lucius turned the smirk into a smile as the door closed behind his son. He stood, taking a step  
towards her.  
  
Hermione took a step back before she could think. Lucius almost laughed at the wild look in her  
eyes. Like a doe just before the final death blow. He took another step towards her, and she again  
took a step back, her back hitting the door, her palms splaying across the cool wood.  
  
He did laugh then, a dry, bitter chuckle and held up a small blue marble type object in his gloved  
hand.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," he smirked. "Not yet." With his free hand he wrenched her wrist  
from the door, roughly yanking her towards him.  
  
She could feel his breath hot on her face, it smelled of rotting flesh and smoke and she winced,  
closing her eyes. She could feel him move against her, taking off one of the gloves.  
  
"Open your hand," Lucius whispered, and Hermione did so, forcing herself to unclench her  
fingers. Lucius grinned. She was too easy this Mudblood. Scared out of her mind of him. He  
traced a finger down her wrist towards her palm, and then he let the small blue orb drop into it,  
closing his bare hand over it as light engulfed them.  
  
Hermione felt the tug on her stomach, and for a moment she feared she was going to throw up.  
She hit the ground hard, stumbling as her shoes smacked the concrete, sending her sprawling to  
the stone floor.  
  
Above her Lucius, completely nonplused, standing straight as ever laughed down at her, reaching  
down to wrench her up by her wrist.  
  
"Welcome to Malfoy Manor my dear," he pointed to a chair. "Sit."  
  
Hermione did. They were in a study much like the one they had just left, only this was  
immaculately clean, and full of many artifacts she would have preferred to never see.  
  
"Why am I here?" she tried to keep her voice steady, but there was a faint tremor of fear, which  
only increased the grin on the man's face.  
  
"There is someone you must meet," he crossed to the door. "I wouldn't bother trying to escape  
my dear," he smirked. "It would not be to your best advantage." He didn't elaborate further as he  
exited the study, and Hermione knew he wasn't lying. So she didn't move.  
  
Her eyes scanned the room desperately, searching for a weapon, but aside from many heavy  
objects there was nothing that could be useful. And she knew that Lucius probably had that angle  
covered as well. His eyes, while cold and utterly evil were intelligent.  
  
It was not but a few moments before he entered again, dragging behind him none other then  
Narcissa Malfoy.  
  
Hermione had seen the woman only once, but her beauty was not something one forgot. But she  
was different this time, while still as beautiful as ever, long shiny blonde hair, flawless alabaster  
skin, and Draco's beautiful silver eyes there was something different about her now. There was a  
slight bulge under her formfitting gown, there was no doubt in Hermione's mind what it was.  
  
Her face as Hermione had remembered it was no longer pinched in disgust, but blank, and her  
eyes, unlike Draco's were dead to the world. She obediently let Lucius drag her into the study,  
and she uttered not a word as he set her in a chair directly across from Hermione's own, resting a  
hand on her slightly protruding belly. It was so slight you could barely see it, but present enough to leave no questions.  
  
"Look what I have brought you," he leaned in close to the woman, his voice a barely audible  
whisper. "I figured a little...chat would be in order." Narcissa didn't respond, just looked at the  
girl curiously, her head cocked to one side like a child's. Lucius stood.  
  
"I'll leave you two ladies alone," his smile was hiding something, wicked and all knowing and he  
left the room in a swirl of expensive robes, leaving her alone with the woman.  
  
Hermione looked at Narcissa, knowing somehow she had nothing to fear from the woman  
herself, but still a bit wary of her. Her face was all curiosity, but her eyes were completely dead.  
  
"You're a pretty little thing," Narcissa said in a soft voice. Her eyes looked away, her expression  
far off. "Have you met my son?" She returned her gaze to Hermione. Hermione blinked, not sure  
how to respond.  
  
"Yes," she said finally. The woman was obviously either not in her right mind, or Lucius had  
told her nothing. Hermione relaxed a bit further.  
  
"He's a cute little boy isn't he?" Narcissa continued. "So like his father." Hermione almost  
snorted, but refrained. "He's very intelligent for his age." Narcissa went on, babbling now. "And  
he just loves France." Hermione blinked again. "Have you been to France?"  
  
"Yes, many times," Hermione said, she was reeling now. What reason could Lucius have for  
wanting her to meet this woman. This poor woman who was obviously completely insane.   
  
"Beautiful country," Narcissa said smiling. "I wish I could go, but I am not well." She smiled.  
  
"I'm sorry," that Hermione could plainly see. Narcissa's eyes snapped to hers.  
  
"Do you?"  
  
Hermione nodded, her unease coming back full force now. Narcissa's eyes had changed, going  
from dead, to shining with an emotion she couldn't place. They glinted in the light, deadly and  
fearsome.  
  
"I don't think you see a lot of things."  
  
In a flash the woman was across the distance between their two chairs. Hermione cried out as  
she felt nails dig into her chin, and the woman forced Hermione to look at her. Her face was not  
calm and expressionless now. Oh no. It was determined, and a bit desperate, her fingers digging  
into Hermione's face, her other hand clutching at the skirt of Hermione's gown.  
  
"You don't see what's right in front you," Narcissa hissed. "What's right in front of your eyes."  
  
"What-What are you talking about," Hermione's voice came out pinched and muffled from  
Narcissa's grip. She had been wrong about Narcissa being no threat to her. This woman was very  
much a threat.  
  
"You can't see because it blinds you," Narcissa's fingers dug deeper and Hermione cried out  
again.  
  
"What blinds me?" Hermione whispered.  
  
"It blinds so many people," Narcissa's voice turned sad. "But you can't see because of it. He's hurt  
my son, and he continues to hurt him and you can't see."   
  
Hermione cried out again as the nails continued to dig into her skin, she felt a drop of blood run  
down it, dropping onto her dress. But Narcissa did not let up.  
  
"Why can't you see?"  
  
"I don't know," Hermione cried out desperately, her hands going up to Narcissa's arm, trying to  
wrench her away but Narcissa was much stronger then she looked. And Hermione could do  
nothing more then tug at the iron like grip. She squirmed in her seat, trying to get farther back  
away from the woman, but none of it was any use. She was weak. The woman's voice turned sad  
again.  
  
"I should not have let him hurt my son," her eyes bore into Hermione's. "But mothers don't  
always have a choice. HE doesn't have a choice." Hermione felt the nails scrape down her face  
and then Narcissa's grip was gone, Lucius's firm arm around her waist.  
  
"That's enough Narcissa," he said coldly, dragging her towards the door. "I think this meeting is  
over." But Narcissa wasn't done.  
  
She struggled against him, her arms stretched out towards Hermione who sat frozen in her chair.  
She was screaming, kicking her legs against the man, her fists clenching towards Hermione.  
  
"See the mark! You have to see the mark!" The door slammed and the room was silent save for  
the woman's screams in the other side of the door, growing fainter and fainter as Lucius dragged  
her away.   
  
Hermione couldn't breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her hand reached up to her face. It  
throbbed with pain, and when she drew her hand away it was streaked with the faint traces of  
blood from where Narcissa's nails had cut into her. Her hand shook as she looked at it, red  
against pale white. She had underestimated the woman, and she had been so frightened she  
hadn't even seen Lucius enter. Her eyes snapped up when he entered again though.  
  
"What did you do to her you little bitch," Hermione almost screamed as he crossed the room in  
angry strides, wrenching her up by her arm. Her arm lashed out, striking him across the chest,  
but he didn't respond to that. He yanked her over to the table.  
  
"I didn't do anything," Hermione heard herself say desperately, but Lucius wasn't listening. He  
picked up that same little blue orb she had seen before with his still gloved hand and he yanked  
open her palm, dropping the orb inside it.  
  
Hermione felt him push her away before the tug on her belly began again and she felt herself  
whirled away. Back to her prison.  
  
Draco was waiting for her on the other side. Sitting in the same chair Lucius had told her to sit in  
before. He leapt up the minute he saw the flash of light, and immediately went to its source.  
  
Hermione felt herself stumble again, but his strong arms were around her this time, keeping her  
from smacking against the marble floor.  
  
"What happened?" he held her away at arm's length. She felt the tears come then, running down  
her cheeks to mingle with the small droplets of blood on her chin.  
  
Draco shook her a bit. "What happened?" he demanded, more insistent this time.  
  
Hermione gasped, trying to catch her breath. Trying to calm down. Her face was dark angry red  
at the bottom, streaked with tears and blood now and there were little crescents dotting the skin  
at her chin. His heart clenched and he sucked in a breath, gently tugging her towards the chair.  
  
"Sit down," he commanded and she did, her breath coming out in deep ragged gasps. "Now what  
happened?"   
  
Hermione looked at him, trying to calm herself. An activity she seemed to be partaking in a lot  
these days.  
  
"I met your mother," she said.  
  
"My mother did this?" Draco took a step back from the girl. Shaking his head. "My mother  
wouldn't do that." There was no way Narcissa Malfoy, the weak, slightly insane woman who still  
bought him toys even at the age of 17 had done this. Hermione's face deep purplish red, and  
would probably be bruised in the morning.  
  
"Your mother DID do this," Hermione snapped. "She grabbed me and she kept saying I couldn't  
see something." Hermione shook her head, drawing in a shuddery breath. "I don't know."  
  
"My mother has trouble opening doors by herself," Draco snapped. "She needs someone to help  
her get up half the time."  
  
"Well, she was certainly fit today," Hermione stood up, glaring at him.   
  
"There's no way," Draco shook his head. "You were mistaken."  
  
"I know what happened to me," Hermione turned towards the door, feeling the tears again. He  
didn't believe her.  
  
"And I know my mother," Draco's voice was beyond angry, he was close to rage and his tone left  
no room for argument.  
  
"I don't care if you believe me or not," her hand was on the door. "But she did this." She looked  
at him, her eyes shining with tears and pain.  
  
"I fear for you," she said after a few moments.  
  
"Why?" Draco asked. Hermione swallowed.  
  
"I don't think Lucius will be needing you much longer," Hermione said finally.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Draco crossed the room, his hand on the door knob, stopping her  
from leaving, his voice had turned to the rage it had been threatening.  
  
"Your mother is pregnant," Hermione whispered. "Lucius has a new heir."  
  
"My mother is not pregnant," Draco took a step away from her. "You didn't speak to my mother."  
  
"And I'm telling you I did!" Hermione couldn't believe this. Couldn't believe he actually thought  
she was lying to him. Draco glared at her.  
  
"I saw my mother not a week ago, and she was NOT pregnant," Draco said coldly. "The woman  
you saw was not my mother."   
  
"I've seen your mother before Draco," Hermione said softly. "And I swear to you that was her."  
Draco ignored her, opening the door himself and walking out. Hermione followed him,  
forgetting for a moment the pain in her face, and in her arm.   
  
"I know what I saw," she repeated, trying to match his long-limbed stride, but it was impossible.  
He ignored her. "You have to believe me."  
  
"I don't have to do anything," Draco continued on, and Hermione stopped.  
  
"No." She whispered. "You don't."  
  
The library became a place of refuge for Draco as the next day went on. His feet were close to  
wearing a path in the shiny black marble from his pacing. The air was thick from dust of the  
books he had tried to read, and once in a while during his musings he would give a cough or a  
sneeze.  
  
It was impossible. She had to be mistaken. He knew there was no reason for her to lie to him, but  
he also knew there was no way what she had said could be the truth. She must have met  
someone else.  
  
But in the back of his head he felt a strange nagging, as if perhaps he believed her. But his eyes  
didn't lie. He had seen his mother no more then a week ago and she had most decidedly NOT  
been pregnant. And she certainly was not capable of the dark mottled bruises that covered the  
bottom of Hermione's face. The mother he knew had been helpless since before he could  
remember.  
  
He father had told him countless times that her weakness was a direct result of his birth. And his  
mother had always been fond of using the phrase "You nearly split me asunder" even at his most  
tender ages. He had long ago learned to banish the guilt of causing his mother such pain, because  
he knew now that his birth was not all there was to it.   
  
During the first years of his life she had been almost normal, and any happy memories he  
possessed had occurred before the day he had turned five years old. She played with him and let  
him sit in her parlor, and during the first 4 years of his life it had been him who stood in for the  
silent partner she had spent so much time swirling around to. He could remember  
  
His mother's delusions had been an excellent source for some of his favorite childhood games.  
He had been primarily without playmates for a vast majority of his youth, and his mother had a  
far better imagination then him.  
  
But on the eve of his fifth birthday, just before dinner, and the next day's party and presents, that  
had all changed.  
  
He could still remember her screaming, and he closed his eyes as small footfalls of a young boy  
echoed off the walls of his mind, racing towards her. The faces of the men in their black robes  
grabbing her arms, wrenching her backwards, one with his wand out as they yanked her away.  
  
Lucius had just stood there, his face impassive, his eyes cold as he watched the wife he claimed  
to love dragged away from her home, his body rigid as the son he had made with her yelled for  
his mother.  
  
He could still feel the silk in his hands, and his fingers closed reflexively in memory. He had  
clutched at her, pleading with her to stay with him. He hadn't blown out his candles yet. The  
candles were her favorite part he had screamed, the cake was what she had been looking forward  
to all week.  
  
But no one had listened to the pleadings of the young boy, too small to be of consequence, to  
insignificant to be of any interest. And they had taken her.   
  
That was the day his father had canceled his birthday. The day his presents had been dumped  
unceremoniously on the floor of his playroom, unopened. That was they day he had gone to  
France and his somewhat happy childhood had ended.  
  
Draco opened his eyes, swallowing.  
  
She hadn't returned for two years, spending her days as an inpatient in the more lenient ward of  
St. Mungo's.   
  
Of course the information had been covered up. Lucius was still regaining favor with the  
Ministry but he still had enough power to ensure his families name would not be tainted. She  
had returned when Draco was seven, not better but worse. She had lost all touch with any reality  
she'd clung to.  
  
From that day on he remained that same young boy in her eyes, the one just about to turn five.  
The one who battled her with the gold and silver chess pieces, making little roars and gun noises  
as he trounced her across the board. The little boy who had curled up on her ottoman at her feet  
as she told him stories. The boy with the shining eyes.   
  
Draco shook his head. Hermione had been mistaken. His mother's time at St. Mungo's had  
damaged her beyond all repair. She often had trouble standing on her own, and more then once he  
had watched Kylie practically spoon feed her. He cringed as he remembered the little bits of  
food falling onto her white gown. No. His mother could not have done that to Hermione.  
  
But still, the doubt tickled the back of his mind, weighing there heavy like guilt. He would have  
to wait until his father contacted him. Which could be days. And even then he doubted if he  
would get the truth.   
  
Lucius Malfoy getting another heir would explain many things. And bring up all kinds of  
horrifying situations.  
  
Hermione found him sprawled across the long table, his blonde hair brushing the surface of the  
desk, his cheek resting against the worn pages of the volume open in front of him.  
  
She hadn't seen him all day. He had skipped lunch, and dinner, the first meal she'd had which  
actually broke away from the soup and crisp bread tradition of this place. And Kylie had been  
strangely absent too, locked away somewhere in the huge castle, no doubt enjoying her  
forbidden pleasure.  
  
Even in sleep he wasn't peaceful. He was tense and guarded, his fingers clenched beside his  
head, as if gripping an imaginary wand and then he twitched.  
  
Hermione froze, pausing in mid-step. If he had been close to waking up he showed no sign of it  
now. He merely lay there, muscles completely ready for an unseen attack. Hermione started  
again, careful to walk on her toes.  
  
She had a theory. And like all scholarly people before her she was going to try it out. Whether  
Draco wanted her too or not.  
  
Narcissa's words rang in her head. They were in every dull throb of her face, every sudden sting  
of pain. It had been a message. Perhaps a warning. But the look in her eyes had meant  
something. Hermione had wanted to cast it off as the rant of an insane, battered woman, but it  
was more then that. Much more.  
  
She made her way around the sleeping boy, careful not to disturb him as she peered over his  
shoulder. She could just make out the first words of the ancient page between the strands of  
silver.  
  
Tempero.   
  
Hermione frowned. It was Latin, but her rudimentary knowledge of the language told her  
nothing. Her hands reached out, barely brushing the hair away, holding her breath.  
  
The Tempero Curse was once one of the most feared-  
  
And then he grabbed her. His grip was iron around her wrist and he used his weight to send her  
back against the table just behind them. He whirled, still gripping her wrist, pushing her back  
onto the desk.  
  
"Hermione?" he blinked. Hermione sucked in a breath, the anger in his eyes seemed to melt to  
cold confusion, and the pressure on her wrist lessened. His body pressed close and for a second  
she forgot all about her mission.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I-" Hermione bit her lip. "I came to see you." Draco released her wrist, taking a much needed  
step back.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," Hermione shook her head. "Nothing's wrong."  
  
"Then why-?" Draco didn't finish, but she knew what the question was. She shrugged.   
  
"You missed lunch and dinner. The houseelves made a roast," she sounded like an idiot. But her  
eyes kept snapping to the book.  
  
"You should be in bed," Draco said shortly. Hermione stood up a bit straighter.  
  
"Don't tell me what my bedtime is," she snapped. Draco ignored her. Hermione sucked in a  
breath, gathering that Gryffindor Courage. "Draco, what's going on?"  
  
Draco blinked, confused at first, but then he saw where her eyes were landing. They snapped to  
the book. His hand reached back, closing it.  
  
"That's none of your concern," they glared at each other for a moment. Hermione was the first to  
crack, her expression softening.  
  
"You can tell me," her hand reached out but his shoulder reared back. His hands grabbed the  
book.  
  
"No, I can't," his voice was almost sad, and he clutched the book harder, his knuckles turning  
white.  
  
"Why?" Hermione took a step toward him, her hand out. But he just took a step back. Out of her  
reach once more.  
  
"You won't understand," Draco turned on his heel, as he was fond of doing and made for the  
door.  
  
"Draco please," he stopped mid-stride, but didn't turn around. "You owe me this much."  
  
"I owe you nothing," he snarled, and before she could blink the door was slamming behind him.  
Hermione sighed and sat in a chair. He was so difficult to read. So impossible to reach. And she  
didn't know why she was trying. She looked at the scene in front of her, noting that he had left  
several other volumes scattered across the desk, some open, some not.  
  
So she set off to do what she did best. She reached for the nearest one and started to research.  
  
It was not days or weeks before Lucius came to pay a visit to his only son. In fact it was barely  
hours. Draco had just lain across the bumpy mattress of the bed he had chosen for himself when  
the door snapped open.  
  
He merely raised his head to stare at his father, who looked absolutely livid, his hands clenching  
and unclenching.  
  
"Where is that little Mudblood Bitch?" Lucius descended on his son, wrenching him up from his  
sitting position on the bed by his shirt collar, peeking above the cloak he had rescued from the  
wardrobe. Draco looked calmly at his father, ignoring the pinching of his skin under the taut  
fabric.  
  
"Last I saw her she was in the library," Draco said calmly. Lucius released him.  
  
"Do you have any idea the state that little wretch put your mother in? She's been ranting for  
hours, " Draco didn't reply, and he resisted the urge to reach up and yank his collar back from his  
neck. He merely sat upright on the mattress, watching his father with wary eyes.  
  
Lucius Malfoy rarely showed this much emotion when he was angry. Usually he just smiled that  
cold smirk and clasped his hands together, knowing he would eventually get his revenge, sooner  
or later. But now he was fairly shaking with anger, and somewhere, hidden in the depths of blue  
there was something resembling concern. But Draco knew it wasn't for his mother's well-being.  
He suspected it had something to do with Hermione's information.  
  
"I suppose it's bad for the baby," Draco drawled, testing the theory. Lucius's eyes turned from  
anger and mild concern to something resembling surprise. His mouth almost dropped open.  
  
"So the little bitch brought you the glad tidings," Lucius smirked, crossing his arms over his  
chest.  
  
"So it's true." Draco looked away from his father, his eyes going to the floor. Worry rose in his  
chest, fair choking him. If Lucius was given another heir, then there was only one thing in  
Draco's future.  
  
"Yes," Lucius's smirk grew. "It's true."  
  
"Then why don't you just kill me now?" Draco stood up, anger replacing the worry. Glare met  
glare as he stood to face the man he had called father for all these years.  
  
"Now what would be the logic in that?" Lucius chuckled. "I have use for you still boy. Do not  
concern yourself."  
  
Lucius turned.  
  
"And I have use for the girl. I will come for her in 3 days times. All should be ready then." Draco  
took a step toward his father.  
  
"What should be ready?" Lucius chuckled again.  
  
"You will see my son." And then he was gone, in a flash of brilliant green light. Draco clenched  
his fists. He would see, sure enough. But by then it would probably be too late.  
  
It was not long before she found it, hidden away in the back of the last book. And even then the  
information was brief. But enough.  
  
"The origins of the Tempero Curse are unknown, but it's process is as old as time itself. A  
complex involvement of spellwork and potions craft that binds the victim to the caster. The  
curse is easily identified by the unique mark of the caster, burned somewhere on the intended  
victim. The mark itself is a form of punishment, causing intense pain to the subject if the caster's  
orders are disobeyed, or any ill will is directed towards them. It is reminiscent of the Imperius  
Curse but is far more complex in nature. Since the ban in 1289 the curse has fallen out of  
practice, and is considered a lost art."  
  
Hermione sucked in a breath. It all made perfect sense.  
  
Narcissa had said something about the mark. Kylie had even gone as far to say that everything  
that had happened was out of Draco's control.  
  
Her mind flashed through all the signs. His fixation on his chest, the wincing from some  
unknown pain. His cryptic remarks. His long nights of research here. Hermione stood up, almost  
knocking her chair backwards as she did so.  
  
Kylie's "tattoo", her pain from the conflicting orders. It all fell together.  
  
She wanted to cry. She had blamed him, and guilt flooded her as she made her way out of the  
library. She had blamed him and he'd had no control. He had been controlled.  
  
The guilt was replaced by hatred, by even more loathing for Lucius, a man whose cruelty knew  
no bounds. Not even when it came to his own son.  
  
She picked up her pace, her shoes echoing off the walls as she made her way towards the room  
she knew he had staked out for his own. She had to apologize. She had to know. And she was  
going to make him tell her.  
  
She found him standing in the middle of the room, his eyes on the floor just before her. They  
flickered up as she entered.  
  
"You should be in bed," he repeated his words from earlier. She shook her head.  
  
"I know." She saw his hand clenched by his side, knowing he didn't take her words as an  
admission of needing to be asleep. He knew what she referred to.  
  
"How?" His voice was hard, but she had expected nothing less. She stood there calmly, the  
calmest she had been in days.  
  
"Your mother, in the study. She was ranting about a mark," Hermione explained. "And Kylie  
alluded to it. And then there was you."  
  
"What about me?" A muscle ticked away in his jaw, everything about him was tense, guarded.  
  
"You would rub your chest...and you always looks like you're in such pain." Hermione took a  
breath. "I saw what was written on the book tonight." Draco nodded jerkily.  
  
"All right. So you know. Congratulations," he sneered. "You can leave now." He pointed to the  
door, but Hermione didn't move. She took a step forward, then another. Determined.  
  
"Let me see it," her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. And truthfully Draco was too  
exhausted to. The knowledge of the truth, his father's visit, the forthcoming events were all too  
much for him.  
  
He grimaced. It wasn't worth hiding. There was no need to, she already knew. They were  
probably on the verge of death anyway. Slowly he reached up, his eyes on her face the whole  
time. 

It was a strange situation. His fingers slipped across the crescent moon of his cloak, undoing the  
clasp easily, it fell away, pooling on the floor in a puddle of satin. Under that was a simple crisp  
dress shirt, immaculate even despite the circumstances. She hadn't expected anything less. Draco  
watched her eyes as he slowly undid the buttons, moving down slowly, his gestures careful. He  
didn't realize he was holding his breath. She watched him intently, curious and a bit frightened.

Slowly he drew back the cloth, revealing the expanse of smooth pale chest, hairless and well  
defined in the dim light from the window. But that was not her primary concern.  
  
Hermione gave a gasp, her hand instinctly going to her mouth, her feet taking a step back of their  
own accord.  
  
If this bothered him he didn't show it. Merely stood there, firm and rigid, stone faced, eyes cold  
and calculating. He was oddly vulnerable.  
  
It was still a horrible sight even in the dim moonlight of her prison. The skull was a brilliant red  
unlike any she had seen before, like fresh blood, the eyes black and haunting. Her eyes widened  
in fright. Twisting around it, silver and glinting with every twitch of his muscle under her gaze  
was a perfect serpent, its scales too lifelike for words, its eyes flashing a brilliant yellow. It  
came in through the mouth of the unmistakable mark of the Death Eater, exiting through those  
depthless eyes, predatory and utterly evil. The flesh around it was raw and angry red, the mark  
itself more a terrifying scar then anything.  
  
She took a step towards him. Her eyes lifting from his chest to meet his, they returned her gaze,  
betraying none of his emotions. They merely regarded her, watching her reaction, her emotions.  
They played across her face in sequence, surprise, disgust, fear, and there, hidden in the depths  
of those wonderful eyes, understanding, maybe even compassion. He merely stood there,  
unmoving, his muscles tensing, his breath shallow, his eyes cold as ever. She took another step  
towards him, the hand at her mouth stretching forward.  
  
Still he didn't move. He didn't react. She was right in front of him now, he could feel her breath  
hot on his chest. He clenched his fists.  
  
"Say something." He sneered. "Tell me how repulsed you are." Her eyes widened in surprise and  
she shook her head, mute. Her hand reached out, and before he could pull back her fingers were  
on him. Tracing at the outline of the serpent with small feather-light touches, no longer looking  
at his face, concentrated instead on the mark alone.  
  
He took in a shuddering breath as she continued to follow the serpent's path, pausing for a  
moment on its eyes before she brought her fingers back down. His hand reached up, gripping her  
own.  
  
"Don't." His voice was soft, pained. Her eyes traveled up, meeting his again, full of something he  
couldn't place.  
"Don't what?" she whispered.  
"Just don't." She ignored him, her fingers still on his chest, not moving anymore. Her eyes  
gleamed with something, tears perhaps, fear...he didn't know. Emotion had never been his strong  
point, but now, under the spell of this girl he had more then he could deal with.  
"It hurts you," she wasn't speaking to him, not that he could see. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a  
statement. It was nothing he could place as it was broken with a grief he had no experience with.  
So he didn't respond. He just stood there, frozen, his hand gripped hers, her fingers still on the  
mark, which tingled under her touch, no longer paining him. "Just let me-" she didn't finish her  
sentence, she bent her head, and he gasped as he felt her lips against it. Cool and soft on his skin,  
she placed one sweet kiss on it, searing him with her touch. He felt something pull at his  
stomach and he held his breath again. His eyes fell closed, and her lips lingered there for a  
moment, before touching him again.

"Hermione-" she shook her head, looking up at him.

"Don't." She whispered. His eyes still closed he let out his breath.

"Don't what?" She smiled.

"Just don't." And then her lips were on his.

They struck him to the core, jolting him with such intensity he thought his legs would fail him.  
The sweetness of it overwhelmed like nothing had before. It was purity. There was nothing  
wrong about this, nothing sinister, nothing dark. It was all light and warmth. All this from one  
simple kiss.  
  
He went slowly, tentatively. He forced himself to be gentle as his lips moved against hers, and he  
lost himself. 


	5. UnGod

And We Have Sinned  
Chapter Five: UnGod  
Author: Dizzy  
  
"And in the darkness all that I can see  
The frightened and the weak  
Are forced to cling to mistakes they know nothing of   
At mercy are the meek. "-Sarah Mclachlan "Black"  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was an eternity before Draco finally managed to pull back into some semblance of reality. He  
yanked away, holding the girl at arms length.   
  
He was quite sure he had never found himself in such a state. His chest rose and fell sharply with  
each intake of strangled breath, and his lips burned with an intensity that matched the pain that  
was so frequent in his chest.   
  
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes were wide, both with shock and disappointment. He shook  
his head to clear it and then locked eyes with her again.  
  
"You shouldn't have done that." He whirled. Behind him Hermione took a step forward, her arm  
stretched out as if to reach him. But nothing could reach him now. The door slammed behind  
him.   
  
She really shouldn't have done that she reasoned. It had been a silly stupid thing to do. Kissing  
Draco Malfoy was on par with romancing the devil. But the devil couldn't kiss like that.   
  
Instinctively her fingers went up to brush her lips, a gesture that many girls had done in many  
situations. But she was quite certain none of them had been kissed like that.   
  
He was all restrained passion, and she could feel his restraint as he moved his lips over hers. It  
was like he was mimicking every gentle, tender thing he had ever seen.   
  
But it would never happen again.  
  
Hermione barely slept that night, so plagued was she with the events of the past few days. Her  
lips still burned from his kiss, and when she licked them she could still taste him there.   
  
But that lasted only a few hours, and then all she could taste was her salty tears.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kylie roused her as she often did, a fact Hermione was becoming increasingly used to, and  
dressed her in silence. It had been three days since that night and she had seen not a hair of  
Draco anywhere.   
  
Kylie brushed her hair without a word and then steered her towards the door. She didn't know if  
Draco had talked to Kylie or not, but she didn't think that was the source of the girl's closed lips.  
Kylie was scared of something, and whatever it was Hermione felt she was better off not  
knowing. After all ignorance was bliss they said, a fact she had never let herself belief.  
Knowledge was power was more like it.  
  
Draco was not at breakfast, yet again, and the steam from his soup, rising up into the air was a  
painful reminder of that.   
  
He was not in the library, but she saw that he had given up all discretion. The books on the  
Tempero Curse had not been cleared away, some still open to the pages he had been reading last.  
It was as if he just didn't care what she thought anymore.  
  
Which she supposed he didn't. She already knew what he had been hiding. She knew why he had  
done this. She also knew none of it was his fault.   
  
Hermione turned, prepared to try to find him in one of the more secret rooms of the castle, when  
the door to the library burst open.   
  
It seemed she wouldn't have to look for him after all. Her heart swelled, and she almost smiled.  
His hair was disheveled, his cloak on a bit sideways, but her almost smile faded to nothing when  
she saw his face. It was almost frightened, a bit desperate in it's drawn, gaunt features. His  
cheeks were flush with exertion.  
  
"What's wrong?" A question she had asked many times.   
  
"My father is here," he was slightly out of breath, leaning against the chair. Her eyes widened.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"I don't know. He said he would come for you." Hermione crossed the short distance between  
them.   
  
"What do we do?" She whispered. Draco shook his head.   
  
"There's nothing we CAN do," he said. "There's no way out."   
  
"But we have to do something," Hermione was frantic now, her hands reached out, grabbing the  
front of his cloak. Her eyes travelled upwards, locking with his own, her voice bordered on  
frustration. "Tell me what to do." Draco looked down at her.  
  
His eyes, that beautiful silver gray were filled with more emotion then she had ever seen in  
them. Sadness, regret, desperation, they flickered in the depths of them until there was nothing  
but the usual blankness.   
  
"We go to him," Draco grabbed her wrist. "There's no other way."   
  
Hermione pulled her self against him, her heels digging into the floor, rearing backwards as she  
tried to pull away. Going to Lucius went against everything she wanted to do. But Draco was  
stronger, and he was determined.   
  
"Let me go," she hissed. "Let me go!" This time it was a shriek. But he did no such thing. Instead  
he tightened his grip, his fingers digging between the delicate bones of her wrist and started  
towards the door.   
  
Hermione stumbled briefly but didn't fall. She just allowed him to pull her. It seemed a habit  
with him, dragging people around by the wrists.   
  
They made their way down dark corridors, through the maze of hallways. Somewhere in the  
middle of it all his grip on her wrist lessened, moving downwards to grasp her hand. It was a  
desperate act, one of many share between them. And Hermione knew he was afraid. In fact she  
had never seen him in such a state.   
  
His eyes were steadfastly forward, his stride quick and determined, as if he was forcing himself  
to take every step. As if he was hurrying to their fate before he changed his mind.   
  
She squeezed his hand a bit as they went, and felt a flash of ease go through her as he returned  
the pressure. But it was short-lived. For they had reached thier destination.  
  
It was the study.   
  
  
Draco pushed open the doors with no preamble and yanked her inside, his hand leavings hers to  
snap around her wrist once more, midstride. She knew it was necessary. His father would not  
tolerate anything more.   
  
Lucius was in the middle, perched lazily in the high back leather armchair, his feet propped, one  
crossed over the other on the ottoman. He smiled when they entered, gesturing towards Draco to  
close the door. He looked like a man who had all the time and patience in the world.   
  
Draco released her, his eyes never meeting her face and went to do just that.   
  
"We have a very important task ahead of us today children," Lucius sat up, his smile growing. He  
turned the full force of that malicious grin on her then, causing her to flinch and look away. He  
lowered his feet to the ground, planting them firmly. "And you my dear are the most important  
of all." He stood up then. "Come." Draco obediently took a step towards his father, and then  
reached behind him, yanking Hermione over.  
  
They formed an odd circle, one evil and vindictive, one pure and bookish, one caught between  
two extremes. Lucius took off his glove, stuffing it into his pocket.   
  
"Hold out your hand." He commanded. Draco did so without hesitation. And then Hermione did  
so as well. With his ungloved hand he pushed Draco's down to touch Hermione's. Then with the  
other, reached into his robe and took out another of those glittering blue orbs. His hand lowered  
to Draco's resting just on top of it, and then he dropped the orb.  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Her wrist burned from the pressure of his fingers, so like Draco's, but much harder and he was  
close to ripping her arm right out of the socket as he yanked her along the narrow corridor  
towards his own destination. She was struggling to keep up. Lucius was much taller then her,  
with legs almost as long as her entire body and it was almost impossible to match his long-  
limbed stride.   
  
But she was managing. She could hear Draco's boots just behind her, keeping his distance but at  
the same time remaining as close as he could without arousing Lucius's suspicion. She wanted  
nothing more then to reach back and grab his hand, but of course it was impossible.   
  
Lucky for her the journey didn't last very long. Lucius paused before a pair of large oak doors,  
much like the ones that led into their library. The barest pressure from his hand had them  
swinging open and he dragged her inside. Like his son he did not waste time with details, but for  
the first time in her whole life Hermione was thinking of Draco as almost gentle in comparison.  
  
The room was sparsely furnished, with only two large overstuffed armchairs as furniture, and a  
few well placed candelabra's for lighting.   
  
For some reason it wasn't surprising that Narcissa herself was seated in one of them, her legs  
drawn up beside her. She didn't look up when they entered, nor when Lucius pushed the girl he  
was dragging into the chair across from her. She just smile dreamily at the ceiling, one hand  
splayed across the bulge of her belly. It was bigger then the few days before, but Hermione knew  
that was impossible.   
  
Hermione saw Draco cross the room to stand at the back, his shoulder's tense, his expression  
wary. His eyes flittered across his mother, taking in her protruding stomach, his eyes widening a  
bit with confusion. Lucius was standing between the two chairs, and from deep within his robes  
he withdrew two small flasks, hiding them in his hands. Hermione sucked in a breath, for he was  
grinning.   
  
"Drink," he handed her one of the flasks, and gave the other to Narcissa, who had just now  
realized he was there, flashing him a brilliant smile. "Drink," he repeated to her, and she nodded,  
gracefully removing the cork stopper. Hermione looked at her own. The liquid inside of it was  
thick and murky, but a beautiful robin's egg blue, shiny in the dim light. She took uncorked it.  
She watched Narcissa tilt the flask back, the thick substance flowing into her mouth.  
  
This seemed to strengthen Hermione's resolve, she too tilted back the flask, putting it to her lips.  
It tasted of soap. Sweet but burning as she swallowed it, knowing that if she did NOT drink it  
Lucius would kill her, and if she did there was only a slight chance it was poisoned. This was the  
lesser of the two evils she reasoned. So she drank down the soapy liquid wincing slightly at the  
taste.   
  
Draco took a step towards her, but Lucius's eyes on him stopped his stride, and he faltered in his  
step.   
  
"You're here to observe Draco," Lucius's tone was cold. "Not interfere." Draco said nothing,  
merely stepped back, resuming his position against the wall, his eyes on Hermione. She saw out  
of the corner of her eye that he was very much ready to strike, powerless to do anything, and  
frustrated because of it.  
  
She drank until she could drink no more. It seemed to overtake her, making her so weak the  
flask dropped from her grip and sending glass across the floor. She fell back against the cushion  
of the chair, her vision swimming. She could just barely make out the blonde figure of Narcissa  
mimicking her actions. But Narcissa did not drop her flask, it merely settled in her lap, falling to  
the corner of the chair. Hermione's head turned up towards Lucius, and she could make out his  
malicious grin through the haze.   
  
"So it begins," he whispered. He took a step towards the two women, his hands out. He placed  
one on Hermione's head pushing her back farther into the cushioning, and one on Narcissa's.  
"Watch boy," he said to his son, his eyes concentrated on the women. "This is your mother's  
salvation." Draco took a step forward, but did not try to stop him. To do so would mean death.  
Perhaps for all of them.   
  
k voice was low, and Hermione couldn't make out the words through the cloud that had  
descended over her. But it wasn't English. Perhaps Latin but she couldn't be sure.   
  
His voice was almost soothing in it's murmuring, and she felt her eyes fall closed, giving into the  
dark. But her peace was short-lived.   
  
The murmuring increased in volume, in strength. The pain was brief at first, lancing through her  
skull, traveling down her spine. She spasmed, her eyes snapping open and Draco took another  
step forward.   
  
Lucius ignored him, continuing, his voice snapping with the force of the words, his grip  
increasing. His fingers dug into her skull, pulling her hair taught beneath them. And then there  
was the light. Draco opened his mouth to cry out as it began, green is your moth and ominous,  
rising up from his mother, who was considerably more at peace then Hermione. She simply sat  
there, eyes closed, in her chair, but sweat dotted her brow, and he saw her hands clench at her  
sides, one gripping her belly. Hermione spasmed again. And the light grew brighter. It filled the  
room with a green glow, casting them all in ghostly shadows.  
  
"Stop it," Draco snapped, but Lucius ignored him, continuing his chant, repeating something  
unintelligible over and over as he went. He was in a place Draco could not reach him. A place  
Draco could not stop him. Lucius's arms were shaking from the force, and Hermione spasmed  
again, her mouth opening, her breath coming in short gasps. They were raspy and gargling, and  
occasionally she would wheeze from the pain.  
  
"STOP IT," Draco yelled, but they were trapped in their own world, something he couldn't  
penetrate. The light intensified, Narcissa's back arching off the chair, her head lolling to the side.  
It seemed to be coming from her, and he watched in horror as it traveled up his father's arm,  
bright and horrifying. Narcissa let out a scream, her body jerking in pain, but still Lucius went  
on. His eyes were bright and glowing, his voice a steady stream of words. The green of the light  
made him horrible to look at, a devil at his work and Draco felt his stomach turn. This was his  
father.  
  
Dimly Draco heard Hermione scream in his head, but he couldn't take his eyes off the light. It  
seemed to move faster up Lucius's arm, and he saw his father tremble for a moment, but his  
concentration didn't break. Hermione screamed again, Lucius's fingers digging into her skull  
with every word, bearing down on her, pushing her farther backwards. The light continued to  
travel up Lucius, and then it jumped, seeming to flow seamlessly from one arm to the other in a  
long string of green. Lucius continued, shaking from exertion and the light traveled downward,  
forming a rounded ball once more. Hermione jerked against Lucius's grip, her knuckles white  
against the green of the chair. His mother seemed to have relaxed, her eyes opening, once hazy  
now suddenly full of expression, one of horror and understanding. He saw her jerk against  
Lucius's grip, trying to reach Hermione, but it was to no avail. Lucius was being controlled now  
by the words coming from his mouth, and he was stronger then anyone could imagine as he  
continued. Draco could feel his power coming off of him in waves, it cast his vision in it's  
blackness for a moment and Draco blinked trying to clear it. Hermione screamed against, her  
legs kicking out as she struggled. The light continued to travel downward.   
  
Draco stepped forward again, knowing he couldn't stop it. His eyes caught his mother's just  
before she closed them. In their silver depths he could see her sorrow, her remorse, but also a  
little bit of the mother he had almost forgotten. Lucius continued, his voice gaining in strength as  
the light traveled further down, until it reached her. Hermione screamed again.  
  
It echoed off the walls, and Draco felt ill once more from the sheer pain of it. The light seemed  
to consume her, making her sickly green, her body jerking upwards, almost rising off the chair as  
it entered her. And then it was gone, and Lucius dropped his grip.  
  
It took just a second of shock before Draco ran to her, and she slumped into his arms  
unconscious.  
  
"It is done." Lucius's breath came in short gasps. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. But he  
looked triumphant, flush with power. Draco glared at him, gathering the girl into his arms. She  
was limp, but still breathing, and Draco clutched her too him.  
  
"What did you do?" Draco demanded. Lucius's face broke into a smile.  
  
"What I had to."   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
How they got back was a blur to Draco, he couldn't remember if he'd tried. But they were back at  
The Winter Palace nonetheless, Hermione cradled, still unconscious in his arms.   
  
She was pale, too pale, and his mind kept flashing back to the light, the bright green light that  
had passed from his mother to her, through Lucius. His blood went cold. He knew what it meant,  
it all fell together. The ritual, the light, his mother's eyes, fresh and new again, shining with  
clarity. His mother's burden had passed to Hermione.   
  
He carried her down the hall, ignoring the worried look on Kylie's face as he passed her in the  
dark corridor. He ignored her footsteps, soft and pattering behind him as he walked to  
Hermione's room.   
  
He knew why Lucius had wanted her. He closed his eyes briefly, clutching her closer. There was  
a battle warring within him. On one side was the desire for her to wake up, the desire to see her  
eyes again, and on the other was the need to keep her sleeping. She should not awake to this.   
  
Kylie appeared at his side to open the door, holding it open as he carried the limp girl into her  
room.   
  
"Is she-," Kylie took a step forward, her breath catching. She couldn't finish the question. Draco  
shook his head.   
  
"No." He crossed to the bed, laying her gently on the mattress. "But I'm sure she'd rather be after  
she wakes up." Kylie's eyes widened.  
  
"Did he-," again she couldn't bring herself to finish the question. But Draco knew regardless. He  
shook his head again.  
  
"No. It seems that is your burden to bear," He pulled up his old cloak, and the tattered moth  
eaten blanket, tucking them around her still form. "He did something much worse today."   
  
"What?" Kylie clenched her hands together. There was nothing worse then the fate she had in  
mind. Nothing. Not in her eyes. "What did he do?"   
  
"He cursed her," Draco closed his eyes, kneeling beside the bed, clutching Hermione's hand in  
his own. "He cursed her." He repeated. He heard Kylie's breath catch again.   
  
"Will she live?" Draco nodded.   
  
"But she will not wish to." He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his finger  
lingering there, moving down her cheeks.   
  
"I..." Kylie was at a loss. "I will leave you now." And she did. Draco said nothing, he could only  
kneel there, marble bearing on his knees as he did, staring at her. His mother was free now, but  
at this expense. No more would her thoughts plague her, for they had a new victim.  
  
He had known it could be done of course. He had read about it long ago, and the process was not  
a difficult one. But one had to have a willing victim. Which Hermione had been. He sucked in a  
breath as he felt her stir against his hand, which had idly been stroking her cheeks. Her eyes  
fluttered.  
  
"Dra-" she murmured.   
  
"Shhhh," he felt his eyes burn as hers blinked open, they were a bit dazed, and pained, but  
otherwise clear. It was still early yet, she was still young. His mother had lived with the burden  
for years, for decades.   
  
"What did he She whispered. "My head..." Draco nodded, understanding.   
  
"He-" he choked on his words, and tried to push the girl back as she sat up, her hand reaching up  
to clutch his.   
  
"Tell me." She whispered.   
  
"He gave you her visions," Draco said, and his voice cracked. Hermione looked at him confused.  
Her head felt heavy, as if something was weighing upon it, and somewhere, something had  
stirred inside of her, something locked away. Something that was not supposed to be awake.   
  
"Your mother's?" She blinked. "I don't understand." Draco rose, and she released his hand as he  
made his way across the room, yanking the chair over to the bedside. She turned to face him,  
drawing the blankets up across her legs. She watched as he fell into the chair, worry had creased  
his otherwise handsome face, it had furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes making him look  
years older then his seventeen. She felt her heart increase it's beat.   
  
"My mother-" he began, and swallowed. "Has seen things all her life."   
  
"Seen what things?" He held up a hand, silencing her. She supposed he would answer her  
questions, she nodded, forcing herself to be patient. Her head had begun to throb, but it wasn't  
painful, it was just strange.   
  
"She's had visions," Draco continued. "Dark visions. They drove her quite mad." Hermione's eyes  
widened. "They were what made her weak." Draco said softly.   
  
"And Lucius gave them to me." Draco nodded.   
  
"Yes," Draco said softly. He sighed. "I think that's why he had me take you." Hermione  
understood. Her hand reached out across the distance to him, grabbing his in her own.  
  
"It's not your fault," She whispered. "It's Lucius's." Draco shrugged.   
  
"It might as well be mine."   
  
They sat there, hands clutched together, at a loss.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Draco's feet could not move fast enough down the corridor, and they pounded in his ears, heels  
on marble. He could hear her screaming, the screams of such terror, of such horror it made his  
heart pound in his chest, overpowering the sound of his boots.   
  
It was more of a shrieking then a scream. A shrieking of words he couldn't make out.   
  
He burst into the room.   
  
She was on the bed, her back arched, her hands clawing at air. Then at her hair, ripping it out  
strand by strand as she dug into her scalp.  
  
"No," Draco was across the room in three quick strides, gathering the girl into his arms,  
clutching her own by her sides. "Stop it." He commanded. But she wasn't listening. She was  
stuck, in the throes of a force more powerful then he.   
  
She bucked against him, twisting in his grip, still shrieking. But he held fast, held strong. And  
that seemed to calm her a bit.   
  
She turned her head to him, rest the back of her head against his shoulder, turning her face up to  
him. It was streaked with tears, a tiny rivulet of blood had run down the side of her face, just  
before her ear.   
  
"There's blood," she whispered.   
  
"Yeah," Draco reached up, brushing the droplet away with his fingers. "Yeah there's blood. " He  
loosened his grip a bit, allowing her more room to breath, more room to move. She wasn't  
struggling anymore, but she was shaking. Her eyes were glazed as they bore into his. Her  
delicate hand reached out, gripping his own. He never took his gaze off hers as she pulled his  
hand toward her. She lay it flat, against her belly.  
  
"Blood right here," he looked down, mostly because she had. "Do you see it?"   
  
"No." Draco snatched his hand away. Forget humoring her.  
  
"Do you see it?" Hermione repeated with more urgency. Her hands reached up, gripping the front  
of his cloak. Her nails dug into his chest but he didn't pull away, he put his hands on his  
shoulders shaking her a bit.   
  
"No I don't see the blood," he snapped. "Because it isn't there." Hermione shook her head.   
  
"Not the blood," she whispered. "The dagger." Her hands released him, going to her abdomen.  
"'Right here." She held up her hands, before his face, forcing him to draw back a bit. "It makes  
the blood run across my hands." She cocked her head. "See it?"   
  
"No. Hermione stop it," he shook her hand, causing her head to snap back. "It's just the visions  
Hermione, ignore them." He leaned in close, his silver eyes burned into her glazed hazel. "Fight  
it Hermione." He shook her again harder this time. "FIGHT IT." She reared back at his roar.   
  
And then she was her again.  
  
Her eyes snapped into focus, the shaking stopped, and she was looking at him with such fear and  
misery in his eyes that he could do nothing more but clutch her too him.   
  
Confused she wrapped her arms around his middle as he wrapped his around her back. His  
fingers were cool against the bare of her neck and Hermione closed her eyes.   
  
"Your poor mother," she whispered raggedly and Draco clutched her tighter. "What she must  
have gone through..." her voice was soft, and full of sorrow.  
  
It broke is heart.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
"How long," Voldemort sat as he always did, fingers pressed together in a splayed bottomless  
triangle, his pose lazy, but alert.   
  
"There's no telling," Lucius replied. "It has progressed fast, just as you said. Because of that I  
can't be sure."   
  
"My mistress will be pleased," Voldemort smiled, his teeth flashing sickly green in the light.  
"Very pleased indeed."  
  
"I am glad," Lucius resisted the urge to look towards the door. He very much wanted to leave. He  
had business to attend to. Business that had nothing to do with this man, or his plans.   
  
"The day draws close Lucius," Voldemort said. "And then our plans can truly begin."   
  
"I anticipate that day my lord," Lucius bowed his head humbly, for if he looked into the face of  
this man, he would know that Lucius was lying.   
  
"As you should," Voldemort gave what Lucius assumed was a chuckle, but it was more like the  
grinding sound of bone against bone. "As we all should."   
  
"The girl-" Lucius began. "-you want me to keep her?"   
  
"Of course," Voldemort stood, and Lucius again resisted an urge. This time to let out a sigh of  
relief that he was departing. "She is still useful."  
  
"May I ask how?" Lucius stood as well.  
  
"No."   
  
"I apologize Master," Lucius bowed his head again, this time to conceal his rage. "I had no right  
to ask."   
  
"We both know this Lucius," he heard the man's boots shuffle across the floor, and the creak of  
the heavy door as it opened. He looked up, catching those eerie yellow eyes with his own.  
Voldemort gave him a cursory nod.  
  
"You have done well. For this you will be greatly rewarded." And then the door closed. After a  
few moments Lucius himself crossed the room, his eyes going to the mirror just above his  
favorite armchair.   
  
The man that stared back at him was not the one he remembered. The face itself was as familiar  
as one's own can be of course, but Lucius had always superimposed the face of his younger self  
on this one in his mind. It was infinitely more pleasing.   
  
Where once there had been smooth ivory skin there were the harsh, biting planes of age worn  
leather.   
  
Once his eyes had shown bright silver with the promise of power, the glint of the future. Now  
they were dull gray, dimmed by years of unquestioning obedience, but still, there glimmered  
faintly in their depths the knowledge of what he had become.  
  
Lucius did not hate himself. He was hated to be sure, but he was not among that number. He did  
not love himself either. He of course held himself in the highest esteem. He knew he was a  
handsome man with his silver hair, aristocratic features, and full Grecian lips, and he knew he  
was a powerful man. He had the power that fear and wealth afford everyone who knows how to  
use them.   
  
And that was what he had always strived for. What he had been taught from birth to want.   
  
But he had paid a heavy price indeed for that power. Burned out of him was all capacity to feel.  
All capacity to love.   
  
Which is why he would continue this charade. He had lost everything most people held dear  
already. Why not continue his pursuit.   
  
And by doing this, he would reach his goal.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
Draco cast his eye across the table, willing her with his mind to eat. But she wasn't listening  
apparently.  
  
He knew she was still weak from the ritual, from her very first real vision, and that she was  
probably nauseous from what she had seen. However brief and unclear it had been. But she had  
to eat.  
  
So he sat there, forcing himself to down the soup in the hopes she would follow his example. He  
sat there sending her messages with his mind, his eyes fair bugging out of head.   
  
They had discussed it afterward of course. Her vision, however traumatic had been like a dream.  
Completely nonsensical, following no order whatsoever, and making the littlest sense possible.  
  
She could recall a dagger, he knew which from her description. The silver handled blade with  
the twisting snake could belong to no other then his father.  
  
She could remember blood. And if she hadn't been able to remember it then surely he would  
have been able to.   
  
And there had been death. Her own she thought. But he had refused to believe it.   
  
It left him nauseous. For never, had his mother's visions, in all his experiences with them failed  
to come to pass. And he wouldn't let her die.   
  
Hermione's head still burned, both from the pain, blinding and white, of the vision. And from the  
attempted scalping by none other then herself. She hadn't managed to rip much of her hair out,  
but small spots on her head twinged with pain. She felt embarrassed, and scared. Mostly scared.  
But determined. To do what exactly she didn't know.   
  
She had felt the same way in second year during the Tom Riddle episode. She had known, before  
anyone, what was petrifying the students, and she had prepared herself. And she was frightened,  
walking down those halls, not pursuing it but not wanting to be pursued. But she had been  
determined. Determined to get to Harry, determined to stop it with his help. She felt that  
determination now. But this time she couldn't go to Harry.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco pointedly lift his spoon up, soup running over the  
sides of the spoon to drip back into the bowl. He slowly, deliberately raised it to his mouth, and  
made a big show of eating it. Obviously he was trying to tell her something.  
  
  
Giving a resigned sigh Hermione reached for a piece of the crumbly bread that always came with  
these soup meals.   
  
Sometimes the soup was different. Today was one of those days. It was an actually tasty looking  
cheddar broccoli concoction with bits of floating melted cheddar cheese on the top. She gave  
him a "See, I'm doing it look." As she tore a bit of the bread off and dipped it in her soup.   
  
He gave a satisfied grunt, his own spoon plopping back into his bowl. Mission accomplished. He  
grabbed his glass of wine.   
  
"Thank you for last night," Hermione said softly, her eyes on her soup, watching the steam rise  
up and disappear. Draco had paused midway, the glass tilted in midair.   
  
"It was...." it was what he thought wildly. Nothing? Cause it hadn't been. My pleasure? It most  
certainly hadn't been that. "The right thing to do."   
  
"You never really struck me as someone prone to do the right thing," Hermione looked up then,  
absently tearing off another piece of bread. Now that she had tasted the soup her appetite was  
returning.   
  
"I'm not," Draco said and sipped his wine. It was cool and bittersweet to the taste. Wine, was one  
of his few loves. "But occasionally I have my moments."  
  
"Well it was....sweet." Hermione said softly. Her eyes dipped back down to her soup, the cheese  
had been disrupted, half hidden now by a layer of milky broth. Draco didn't reply, just took  
another sip of his wine.   
  
He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were trained on the large doors of the dining room, he his face  
was passive. As if he was thinking about nothing more then what socks to wear the next day.  
Which he could have been for all Hermione knew.   
  
"We should try to find out more about your visions," he said finally, he took another sip of his  
wine.   
  
Hermione nodded, her spoon dropping into her bowl, she hadn't wanted to think about the  
visions. Not really. It had been better to focus on the wonderful events that had been because of  
them.   
  
The researching of things like this always led to information that noone wanted to know. Twists  
and turns of simple situations that couldn't be fixed. It was better to not know.   
  
"We can get Kylie to help," Draco went on. "She has experience with this."   
  
Hermione looked up.  
  
"She's been with my mother forever," he said softly. "She nursed her back to health."   
  
"Alright," Hermione took in a small breath. It was better to know she decided.   
  
She had always wanted Harry to know what he was up against. She'd always wanted him to be  
prepared. But those times had never been about her, they had been about Harry. And it was so  
much worse when it was your danger.   
  
"I'll meet you in the library in an hour," Draco stood, setting his now empty glass of wine on the  
table. "And we'll figure out how to fix this."   
  
But Hermione couldn't help but think it was a situation that couldn't be fixed.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Lucius left his meeting with Voldemort burning with something. It was that primal burn, the  
kind that was as old as time. It was purely human in nature. And it must be answered too.  
  
Which was why he found himself strolling down the tasteless, dark corridors of a place he had  
kept for years as nothing more then a prison.   
  
It's hidden, but fairly close location made it convenient for such purposes, and of course there  
were it's other special amenities.   
  
He hated it here. There was no style, no taste to the decor. It was claustrophobic and dank. It  
suited his purposes perfectly in every other regard, but he didn't like to visit.   
  
But The Winter Palace held something now that enticed him. Something that could cure the  
burn.   
  
He knew where they would be. It was only natural that they would discover it after a time. So  
that was where he headed. His long legs made their way down the twisting corridors at a pace  
that was almost ungodly. It fueled him. And she was there.   
  
  
There was no preamble, no warning when the doors to the library flew open with a snap, one  
door crashing against the stone of the wall with the sound of splintering wood.   
  
Kylie leapt from her chair, her book falling from her hands to the floor where it landed with a  
thumb. Hermione was far more discreet with her fear, her book falling forgotten in her lap, her  
eyes widening in fear. But Draco was completely impassive, as if he was used to his father  
bursting into rooms on a daily basis. Which he very well could have been.   
  
If Lucius cared that they were in the room he gave no sign. For a moment Hermione was quite  
certain he was there for her. But his eyes were on Kylie.   
  
Lucius leered at the girl and crossed the room, pushing her aside to sit in the chair she had leapt  
up from. As if on impulse she backed away, now standing just in the middle of the room. He  
raised a hand, patting the knee of his pants.   
"Come here and sit on my lap girl." Kylie's eyes widened, in fear, in pain, and she took a step  
forward. Then another  
  
Hermione bit her lip, her eyes raising to Draco's. Do something she pleaded. Stop him. Her own  
fear of the man was too much for her, he had done so much already.  
  
"Don't do it Kylie." Kylie stopped.   
  
"Sit on my lap girl." Lucius repeated more forcefully and sent a glare to his son. Kylie took  
another step forward, biting her lip. Lucius before her, Draco behind her and Hermione rigid in  
the chair to her right.   
  
"Don't move." Draco said. Hermione watched Kylie bite her lip harder, a tiny drop of blood  
falling from it, running down her chin. Lucius held up a hand.  
  
"You will come here."   
  
"No you won't." Kylie's eyes closed, and her hand went up to her arm, but she didn't touch it, she  
merely clenched her fists. Another drop of blood slid down her chin, dripping to the floor. She  
was shaking from the exertion, a tear slipping out of her squinched eyes.  
  
"COME HERE." Lucius roared and fair flew out of his seat. Draco took a step towards the man.  
  
"Stay there." Kylie cried out, her hand going to her arm now, gripping it.   
  
"Cease this Draco." Lucius sent a look to his son, they were both caught in a battle of power  
now. Draco could feel his chest start the burn, but he ignored it. "You will come here."   
  
"You will not." Draco said, ignoring his father, eyes on Kylie. "Fight it Kylie." The girl did not  
fight it. She sunk to the ground, a whimper escaping her lips. She was clutching her arm so hard  
Hermione was scared she was going to break the bone. Another tear fell to the floor, and the girl  
was shaking so hard she looked to be in the fits of a seizure. Her head raised up and her eyes  
locked with Hermione's. There was so much pain in them, so much pleading Hermione felt like  
sobbing.  
  
"Get UP." Lucius roared, taking a step towards the fallen girl.  
  
"STOP IT." Hermione shrieked, she rose from her chair, falling to her knees by Kylie's side.  
"YOU'RE HURTING HER." Her arms went around the girl, holding her up.  
  
If Lucius cared he didn't show it, but she saw Draco flinch, and the boy took a step back. Lucius  
smiled, triumphant.  
  
"You will come with me Kylie." And Kylie stood up, pushing Hermione away. She rose slowly  
on shaky legs, her breath coming in sharp pained gasps. She walked swiftly, with each step the  
pain subsiding a little more. Lucius looked up to his son.  
  
"Yet again boy," Lucius smirked. "You lose." He gathered the girl into his arms, plunging cold  
fingers into her mass of auburn hair, her face in his chest. "Take your mudblood whore to her  
room." And then he grabbed Kylie's shoulder, pushing her towards the door. She stumbled,  
almost crashing to the floor, but managed to catch herself on a table, her knuckles white from  
clenching it so hard.   
  
"Let her alone," Draco took a step towards his father, but he saw Kylie's face just behind the  
man. Her looked seemed to say "Don't make him madder." And he knew she would feel the  
punishment for his actions. Lucius smiled, seeing the guilt on his son's face, knowing his  
triumph.   
  
"You will see her in the morning Draco," he looked the Hermione. "I'm sure you and your little  
whore can keep yourselves occupied till then." His grinned widened. "I know me and mine will."  
  
And with that he opened the door, pushing Kylie into the hallway, his cloak billowing out behind  
him as he followed her.   
  
Draco was at Hermione's side in an instant, lifting her up to her feet. She looked like she wanted  
to say something, or scream something. So he just pulled her to him, burying her head in his  
chest.   
  
"There's nothing we can do," he said softly. "He wins." And then his voice turned bitter. "He  
always wins."   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Her eyes roamed over the sparkling plain of the mirror, which flickered in the light from the  
candles, casting orange beams of light on the walls.  
  
They moved over the high cheekbones of purest ivory, the almost white lips that had once been  
full and cherry red. They lingered on the lines, worn deep into the skin around her lips, around  
her eyes. Forged there by years of pain, etched into her passive face from years of torment.   
  
And she felt the strong, almost painful kick of the child responsible for the deadness of her eyes.   
  
It was not her child.   
  
Narcissa kept telling herself that. She knew it to be true. It was not a child formed from love, or  
from hate. It was unnatural, and evil. She knew that with every fiber of her being.   
  
For her and the child were connected in a way that only mother's and daughter's can be.   
  
And it would be a girl. She had seen that much before Lucius had ripped her visions away from  
her. He had waited until he was certain she could know the future, and he had taken what had  
been given to Narcissa from birth.   
  
The child kicked again. They were not the soft rumblings of restless babes, they were the hard  
jolts of someone trying to break free.   
  
There was nothing natural about this baby. It had been made from fear, woven together from  
revulsion and necessity. And it grew to fast to be human.   
  
In mere days her stomach had swelled to that of a woman in her third trimester. And Lucius had  
waited until she could give him the information he desired before he took the visions from her.   
  
The visions hadn't always been horrible views into evil. The had started out as good and pure,  
giving her a glimpse of a brief, but happy future. Then they had twisted, leaving her weak,  
driving her mad. Killing her slowly.   
  
And now, free from their burden she could see the way things really were. If Lucius had let her  
be, forced to cope with both the visions darkness and the evil of the child growing in her belly  
she would not last long. She was not a creature of the darkness, she had been born to a perfectly  
happy existence and as such her soul was not equipped to handle so much of the dark.   
  
But she missed her visions. They had been as much a part of her as the honeyed strands of hair  
that hung, long and limp down her back. But they were gone now.   
  
And Narcissa was left with nothing. Nothing but her son, and the creature of horror growing  
inside her. The one who would greet the world in a matter of hours. For her water had broken.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
Despite Lucius's words, Kylie did not return the next morning. A quick search of the castle told  
him that much.  
  
Something was wrong. And not with Kylie. There was no doubt that something was wrong with  
Kylie, but it was something else. Something worse.  
  
The air was charged with it, tense and thick, it suffocated him. Despite that, he couldn't sit still.  
His stomach clenched and unclenched, and his hands did the same, of their own volition.   
  
Hermione felt it too, even in sleep. The dark descended upon the Palace in waves, wracking her  
body with nightmares, her screams filling the silence. But she didn't awaken, she was lost in a  
world of her own, and nothing he had tried could bring her back.   
  
She fought against something, her hands clawing at air, shrieking for something to stop. What,  
he  
didn't know, and she didn't give him a clue with her shrill cries. So he had paced, a wide path  
across her floor, waiting for her to wake. Which she showed no signs of doing anytime soon. But  
he would wait.   
  
For he had nothing but time. But time was short, and something was coming to prove that. He  
tried to play it off at first, he hadn't slept in almost 24 hours, he couldn't if he'd tried. He would  
have tossed and turned wondering if Hermione was okay, if Kylie was okay. He would have  
gotten up, frustrated and paced the length of his room till well past midnight, pacing till he heard  
her screams. Then he would have taken his pacing to Hermione's room and resumed it there.   
  
There would be no sleep for him. And if there was it would come at a price.   
  
His eyes drifted from the marble of the floor, dull now from the tread of his boots shuffling  
across it for so long to the girl in the bed. She had quieted a bit, but not much. Her shrieks had  
been replaced with soft whimpers, sounds of fear, her hands clutching the moth eaten pile of  
thin blankets in a death grip. But she was calming.   
  
He wasn't sure which worried him more, her screams of her silence. Draco ran a hand through  
his limp silver hair,  
taking  
the seat beside her bed. It was quickly becoming his standard perch, and that wasn't a pleasant  
thought in the least.   
  
"Hermione," he whispered, his hand reached out, falling to her shoulder. He shook her gently.  
"Wake up." But she didn't awaken. At least it didn't appear that way.   
  
Her hand snapped up, and Draco fell back startled, but her hand had latched onto his. Her nails  
dug into it, fitting into the grooves of his bones. Draco tried to pull away, but failed.   
  
Her eyes opened, her head turned slowly to face him, and Draco wanted to vomit up the  
contents of his empty stomach. They weren't her usual cinnamon eyes, so full of emotion.  
These eyes were black., dead to the world, and when she spoke her voice was dull and raspy.  
  
  
"She's coming."   
  
"Who's coming?" Draco leaned closer, resisting the urge to give a frustrated sigh. He hated the  
vagueness visions  
brought. But it was  
over. Whatever it was, was over. Hermione blinked, her pupils snapping back into focus, her  
vision clearing.   
  
"Who's coming?" Draco repeated, Hermione snatched her hand away, her mouth falling open in  
shock.  
  
"I don't know," she said softly. "I don't know."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Kylie couldn't have stopped him if she tried, he was so much larger then her, so much more  
powerful. Even now, after all she had been through she let him pull her along. She didn't ask  
why, there was no point in it. So she let him yank her down the hallways of the Manor she knew  
so well, towards the room where the screaming was.   
  
"You will attend the midwife," he was saying, but even that wasn't an answer. She didn't know  
why he needed a midwife, or for who. So she just nodded silently behind him as he yanked her  
along.   
  
The screams grew louder as they approached, the moans of a woman deep in the throes of labor.  
They echoed off the walls, drifting out into the corridors.   
  
Lucius pushed the doors open and pushed Kylie inside.   
  
Kylie gasped, her eyes taking in the scene. Her mistress, who to her knowledge had not been  
pregnant before she left, was laying, soaked in blood on the large bed in the center of the room.  
Beside her was a man Kylie wished she could have lived her whole life without seeing. He was  
horrible, his face that of a serpent, his eyes flashing yellow, his lips thin and cruel, were twisted  
in a smile of grim satisfaction.  
  
"My lady?" Kylie whispered. Lucius looked at her, grim.   
  
"Help the woman," he motioned to the third occupant of the room. Kylie gasped again. This  
woman was possibly the ugliest person she had ever seen. Her face was a mess of twisted knots  
and deep gashes, her eyes dull blue. Stringy grey hair hung in patches down her back, greasy and  
unbrushed for what looked like many years, and the smell of her overpowered even that of the  
blood. Kylie looked to Lucius, pleading to him with her eyes to just let her go, back to the  
Palace, back to her better master. Lucius ignored her pleas and pushed her again, towards the  
gnarled hands of the woman.   
  
"The babe is caught," the woman said, her voice sent goose bumps up Kylie's arms. Kylie's eyes  
drifted from her horrible visage to that of her hands, worn and calloused from years of labor, the  
nails horrendously long, cracked and yellow.   
  
"You-" the woman pointed to Kylie, recognizing her as the servant she was. The woman made  
her way over the birthing mother.   
  
Narcissa was pale, her face slick with sweat, shining in the light from the windows. Kylie  
watched as Narcissa's head  
went back and forth across the soaked  
pillow, her mouth opened in a scream Kylie could no longer hear. She heard only the rasping  
breath of the old crone beside her, and dry chuckle of the snake man who stood beside the bed.  
Everything else was muted, dimmed. She turned back to the woman eyes wide, with fear, with  
confusion. The woman simply placed her hand on Narcissa's belly. "-push here. Hard." The  
woman said. Kylie nodded dumbly, placing her hands where the woman's had been just  
moments before.   
  
Her eyes flew to her mistress's face. For a moment Narcissa seemed to check herself, regaining  
some semblance of control over the situation. Silver blue eyes bore into Kylie, clear but pained  
and then she spoke. Her voice barely above a whisper.   
  
"The child-" Narcissa said softly. "The child is-" but whatever the child was Kylie wouldn't  
know, for Narcissa's voice broke, erupting into another howl of pain.   
  
"PUSH." The old woman snapped, bringing Kylie out of her dazed state. She had to help her  
mistress now, had to save her. So Kylie pushed, bearing down on the poor woman's stomach  
with all the strength she could, hesitating a bit. She didn't want to hurt her, but the look in the  
midwife's eyes told her it was needed. So she pushed harder.   
  
There was blood everywhere, staining the silken sheets a dark red. It dripped onto the floor,  
splashing on the midwife's face, creeping up her arm. There was too much blood. Kylie felt like  
vomiting at the sight, but she just pushed, harder and harder down on her mistress's stomach  
until it felt  
like her arms were going to give.   
  
"Almost-" the midwife was saying. Further back, looking grim, but triumphant Lucius watched  
the proceedings. There was no concern for his wife on his face, no worry over the outcome. Just  
the satisfaction that came from carrying out an order. Someone was shouting, and the snake-man  
still laughed, Lucius barked orders and Kylie's head swam. Then it all snapped into focus as the  
laboring woman opened her mouth once more.  
  
Narcissa's scream ripped the air, it echoed in Kylie's ears, horrible and shrieking. And then there  
was silence.   
  
The midwife pulled out the purple infant, covered in blood and who knew what else, it's skin  
cracked and yellow in some places.   
  
Kylie almost fainted. A wave of something she couldn't place washed over her when the babe  
opened it's mouth, and she gagged.   
  
Instead of a cry, or a wail, it let out a simple whimper, which sounded more like a laugh to  
Kylie.. And then fell silent, it's eyes scrunched up, it's hands clawing at nothing.   
  
The midwife, swept it over to the table against the right wall, picking up a simple black blanket  
to clean the child with, and set to work doing just that. The babe twisted in her arms, the blood  
twinkling in the light, but Kylie could watch no more. Her eyes flew to her mistress, her eyes  
were closed, her breath so shallow Kylie almost thought she was dead. But she would live,  
Kylie was certain of that much. Narcissa would live, and so would her child. As Kylie's eyes  
flew back to it she felt that same wave wash over her. She knew what it was the second time. It  
was as much her mistress as Narcissa. It was evil.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Finally," Voldemort lifted up the glass of wine Lucius had presented him with just moments  
before. "The day has come." Lucius nodded, draining his own glass.   
  
The child had been taken away, to be attended to by the midwife, and his wife lay sleeping, or  
perhaps unconscious in a new bedroom. She would never have children again from the midwife's  
words, which meant if he was to be rid of Draco he would have to find himself a new wife.   
  
That would have to wait, now was a time of preparation, and there was much to prepare for.  
  
"She will grow fast," Voldemort was saying. Lucius forced himself to pay attention. This was  
after all his master, and  
he couldn't afford to miss a word. "Very fast." Voldemort looked pleased with himself, as if he  
had accomplished a  
greater task then simply bedding someone else's wife. Perhaps he had.   
  
"Have you decided on a name yet Master?" Lucius inquired. Voldemort nodded, his smile still in  
place.   
  
"I have named her Desdemona." Lucius gave a satisfactory nod, as if the name was pleasing. In  
fact, no name could  
suit girl better.   
  
"Everything else is in order," Lucius assured him. "We just have to wait now."   
  
"We won't wait long," Voldemort said, still smiling. "Not long at all."   
  
Voldemort reached into the folds of his cloak, and withdrew a small velvet box. He handed it to  
Lucius.   
  
"Give this to the girl in two days time, by then she will be old enough to appreciate it." He stood,  
setting his empty  
glass on the desk. "I will return then."   
  
Lucius took the box, opening it. Inside was a heavy silver ring, that despite it's size was still  
somehow delicate, and  
utterly feminine. It was that of a snake, it's scales etched in the silver, completely lifelike, amber  
eyes twinkled in the  
light and in it's mouth was a small round blackened opal, the colors seeming to twist and swirl.   
  
Voldemort's smile grew at the look of awe on his servant's face. The ring was in fact beautiful,  
beautiful but deadly if  
used in the right way. He took the box from the man, lifting the ring from it's velvet lined  
confines and held it up.   
  
"This, will be her most basic, but most powerful weapon," he held out the ring. Lucius watched  
as the long, gnarled  
finger of his master pushed back the opal, the serpent's mouth opening.   
  
"In here-" Voldemort said, showing Lucius that the ring was hollow, the serpent's mouth led way  
to it's interior. "Is a  
secret hiding place, for the most potent poison's in the world." He smiled wider, pushing the opal  
back into place,  
closing the ring. "Poison's you will teach my daughter when she is of age." Lucius nodded,  
watching as his  
master placed the ring back into the box, closing it with a snap.   
  
"She will learn many other things, but we'll discuss those at a later date. Now, I have business to  
attend to."   
  
"Don't you want to see her?" Lucius blurted, and Voldemort blinked, as if the thought of seeing  
his first, and only  
child hadn't occurred to him.   
  
"Not particularly, she is of no interest to me yet," Voldemort's smile was just for himself now, as  
if he held a secret  
joke only he knew. "But that won't last." He turned, his cloak swirling out behind him. "Watch  
her." Lucius nodded,  
although his master couldn't see. He heard the click of the door as the man left, and his gaze  
returned back to the box  
in his hand.   
  
In a few days, he would give it to it's owner.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Narcissa had never felt so much pain in her life, despite the visions and the torment of her  
marriage. This was far  
worse. Her body felt as if it had been split in two, and the blood flowed even now, hours after  
the birth.   
  
It stained the sheet in a crimson puddle, spreading across the white.   
  
She couldn't bear to open her eyes. She had done something horrible, she had given life. She had  
given life to  
something so vile and despicable she didn't want to see it.   
  
The minute the disgusting midwife had entered her room, the babe wrapped in dark black silk, a  
small raven haired  
head peeking above the folds she had screamed for her to leave. She had screamed at the poor  
old woman to get that  
thing out of her sight. It had taken a few moments of stunned confusion before the woman  
complied, but it was  
enough to know.   
  
She had not been imagining the feelings she had felt during her short, unnatural pregnancy. The  
child was in fact evil,  
which was wrong. Children were not supposed to be that way. Children were light happy  
creatures, but this child had  
most decidedly not been.   
  
Something unnatural flowed over all who were around it, and the midwife had held it at arms  
length, distancing  
herself from the dark-nature of the girl. It had been a girl, a beautiful girl from the mid-wife's  
words upon entering the  
room. But what is more beautiful then the dark?   
  
"She has black hair, and the strangest eyes I ever seen, but she's a pretty one," the midwife had  
said. Narcissa closed  
her own eyes. She didn't want to think about it anymore. She just wanted to sleep, to get away.   
  
She had never had a peaceful night's sleep in all her years here, the visions had prevented her  
from that, and now she  
had the burden of bringing that child into the world to keep her from succumbing to peace.  
While she was not at fault,  
she was. She could have stopped it she told herself, she could have prevented that creature from  
entering this world.  
But she had been weak, she had been a coward, and now she would pay the price.   
  
She would do now what she had been to pitiful to do before. Narcissa forced her eyes open, and  
grabbed the edge of  
the bed, pulling herself up. Every part of her being protested, pain almost sending her to the  
floor, but her resolve was  
stronger then any pain in this world.   
  
She forced herself to her feet, her nightgown clinging to her legs from the blood. Her legs  
trembled, and for a moment  
she feared they wouldn't hold her. She stood there, her legs shaking, grasping the poles of the  
bed's canopy, trying to  
regain a bit of her lost strength.   
  
She thought of Draco. Her beautiful boy, with his silver blonde hair and his lovely eyes to match.  
He was such a  
handsome boy, so full of love yet never able to share it. She almost wept when she thought of  
him, almost thought of  
returning to the bed, to spare him. But she couldn't live this way, she wouldn't live this way. And  
he would  
understand, he was a smart boy.   
  
Slowly she began to move, gripping whatever furniture lay in her path for support, and a few  
times she threatened to  
fall to the ground. The pain increased with every shuffling step, and her teeth were clenched to  
help ease it. They were  
clenched so hard she was afraid they would break, but that was the least her troubles now. She  
would do what needed  
to be done. For her sake.   
  
She was almost there, and again the tears threatened to fall. This time from relief, but she would  
not cry. She was too  
strong to cry. That's why she was doing this.   
  
She fumbled a few times on the knob, her whole body trembling from the exertion, but finally it  
opened, and cool  
night air swept in, lifting her gown. She breathed it in, the scent of the night, the cold of the  
winter. And she relished  
it.   
  
Slowly she forced herself to climb, her feet finding purchase on the thick stone wall, her balance  
teetering, but she did  
not fall. She would not let herself fall.   
  
Narcissa Malfoy took a breath, her eyes closed, her arms out, her legs trembling. Pain shot up  
her body but she didn't  
feel it anymore, she didn't care. She took one last gasp of air and opened her eyes, pushing  
herself off the stone.  
  
And as she fell, the wind whipping past her body, the water rushing up to meet her, she had but  
one thought in her  
mind, clouded by fear now, by the exhilaration of falling, by the joy of freedom. For now, in  
these last moments she  
was truly free. The thought rang in her head, clear as a bell just  
before she struck the water.   
  
"Forgive me, Draco."  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
The midwife had been roused from the village late in the night, yanked from her abode by two  
formidable young men  
in deep black robes, with grinning skull masks over their faces. They had ordered her to come  
along, impatience  
making them irritable. For she was a very old woman, and she hobbled about at half the speed of  
people twice her  
age, making their task take twice as long as it should have.   
  
She had not been frightened of the men, for they had seemed more annoyed then vicious, their  
task of securing the  
village's midwife well below their station. She had not been surprised either at being roused  
from her sleep to exact  
such a task, the master of the keep atop the hill had paid her a visit not a week hence, telling her  
that soon her services  
would be needed. Services she had not put into practice for many years. For the village was  
almost barren now, those  
who had lived all their lives here, and those before them as well, had fled. Their master had  
never been a kind one,  
though he exacted no extreme tax, and never forced them to pay a bit of the meager crops they  
brought in each year,  
but he was by no means kind. And all those years ago, the rumors flew in that their master was  
not the honored man  
of esteem they held him to be, he was in fact serving a man they had feared for all of their lives.   
  
So they had all left, under the cover of darkness, many stealing their children away in the night  
to seek a freedom they  
did not deserve. But he had not sought them out, and the midwife was sure that they were  
happier now. For Malfoy  
Manor was not a happy place, and never would be.   
  
For all her knowledge of the world she knew that the going-on's in the little kingdom were very  
backwards, and while  
they suited her very well, they were not well liked by the younger people who had dwelt in the  
village.   
  
So she had been without young mother's to attend to, without babes to keep healthy, without  
children to give the  
healing droughts that lined the shelves of her small hovel for many years now. In fact the last  
birth she had attended to  
was that of the master's son, whom she had rarely seen in the village, for it was quite unseemly  
for him to frequent it.  
Unless of course his father was teaching him the business of running it.   
  
She was eager now to ply her trade once more, eager to dwell in the company of others, for she  
had been without it  
for many years. Her ugly visage and the rumors that followed her kept all from visiting, and she  
had no family to  
speak of. So now she found herself to be quite happily engaged in the Manor, attending to this  
child.   
  
At least she had been at first, but now that she had glimpsed the babe she had never desired more  
to leave. For this  
child was not natural.   
  
She looked at it now, tucked away in the old-fashioned pram, the blankets of the finest black silk  
framing it's form.  
She was a beautiful girl, of pale porcelain skin, and shining black hair, her features all well  
formed. She would be a  
beautiful child when she was older, that much was to be sure. But it was her eyes that made the  
mid-wife back away,  
made her hold the child at arms-length. They were of the deepest swirling violet, deep hues of  
dark and light purples  
swirling in their depths, but it was not the color that she feared, it was the wisdom in them. They  
were not the eyes of  
a child, but that of a malicious adult, taking in their surroundings as if calculating something  
within their depths. It  
was the eyes that had her crossing herself, and taking out the heavy pewter crucifix she was  
never without.  
  
The midwife was not a muggle, but she was not a witch, she was what was commonly referred to  
as a squib. Which  
was why she had spent a majority of her life applying her brain to a wizarding art that did not  
need magic, and why  
she was so adept at the potions she used to heal the sick. But she did adhere to the Muggle faith  
in God, and she felt  
that only he could protect her from such a child. For this child was that of the devil.   
  
The midwife crossed herself again, for there was something dreadfully wrong. The baby, which  
had been roughly the  
size of the most premature of infants just this morning had grown at an alarming rate, now the  
size of a baby twice her  
age. Although the midwife had been warned that this was to happen she had not believed it.  
Children did not grow at  
such speeds, and if they did, they were not born of the flesh.   
  
But she was to care for the child, and remain in the manor for a week, until the child was formed  
enough to fall under  
the care of the Master. Goose bumps rose on her weathered arms just looking at the girl, and as  
she leaned over the  
pram she resisted the urge to cross herself again, for there was a gleam in those violet eyes that  
no child could  
possess.   
  
The baby girl giggled, one grasping hand reaching towards the woman, as babies were prone to  
do. It took all the  
midwife's restraint not to pull away, and she instead, busied herself with arranging the blankets  
around the girl so she  
could be picked up, and taken to the wet nurse, who had been procured from a neighboring  
village and had been paid  
masses of money to tend to the babe's hunger needs.   
  
The baby's hand found purchase on the pewter crucifix, and since she did not shy away from it, a  
bit of the midwife's  
fears were dispelled. If this baby could in fact touch an artifact of God, then she was not as evil  
as she appeared to be.  
Perhaps it was mere superstition, and the aura of the house that made the baby seem so. With  
longer-fingered hands  
the midwife batted the child's grasping fingers away, but the baby was not to be deterred.  
  
It clutched harder, with a strength that no baby of it's size could possess. The midwife felt the  
heavy chain of the  
necklace twist, and her fingers dropped the child back against the bed. The child yanked, and the  
midwife was pulled  
down, her stringy gray hair brushing the edge of the mattress as she tried to pull away. But the  
chain was heavy and  
thick, digging into the skin of her neck, and it would not break. Her hands reached up, eyes wide  
with fear.   
  
She grabbed the hand of the child, digging her long nails into the baby's skin, but if the child  
noticed she didn't let on.  
She gave a delighted giggle and twisted the necklace again, pulling down even harder. The chain  
pinched the  
midwife's skin, and she could not cry out, for it was pulled so taut she could no longer make  
more sound then the  
barest mew of protest.   
  
The baby giggled again, and twisted the necklace further, blood dripped onto her little hands, the  
necklace cutting into  
the woman's skin, and her hand jerked up the slightest bit as the midwife tried in vain to get  
away. But she was a girl  
with unnatural strength, and she was enjoying this game very much. She giggled once more, and  
continued to twist  
the necklace, yanking the woman further down. The gasping ceased, and the midwife's air was  
completely cut off.  
Panic seized her, making her dull blue eyes bright with panic, her ugly marred face twisting even  
further into fear, but  
the child still not let go.   
  
The midwife felt the strength leaving her, her ears burning. Little spots of red danced in front of  
her eyes and her  
fingers became fumbling in their attempts to pry the child from the crucifix. Soon they fumbled  
no more, and the red  
dots became black.   
  
Finally, the child let the chain go. The midwife pitched forward, her head falling onto the child's  
hands. The child  
giggled again, her hands reaching for the wrinkled face. They squeezed the skin for a moment, a  
violent purple now,  
and then, bored with her game, the baby pushed hard upwards. The midwife fell backwards, to  
the floor, dead now,  
her face still twisted in fear, blood dotting her neck. And in the pram, Desdemona giggled.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	6. Not a Matter of Luck

And We Have Sinned  
Chapter Six: Not a Matter of Luck  
Author: Dizzy  
Disclaimer: I own nothing.   
Author's Notes: WHOO HOO over 300 reviews! I love you guys! This chapter is a bit more  
light-hearted at times, and there is a lot more  
Hermione/Draco action. Again I've attempted to answer a few of your questions:  
  
To those of you who said Desdemona resembled some kid on The Omen movies: I've never seen  
any of those films, my tastes tend to run more towards cheesy romantic films and weird flicks  
(Fight Club, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Amelie are among my favs). So the  
resemblance is unintentional on my part.   
  
Also I've never read any of K.A. Applegate's work. Although I did watch that show on Nick  
about those kids who could change into animals or something with my little sister like twice.   
  
Desdemona means (according to baby names.com): Demon Child. Hence the name. The reason  
she's a..well girl, will be explained later on, maybe not in this fic, but definitely in the sequel  
(yes there is a sequel coming). It is an important thing her being female in a male dominated  
society, proud that you guys picked up on it!  
  
This part is dedicated as always to Em, cause she's afraid of escalators.   
  
And now on with the show.   
  
~Apocalyptic and insane, my dreams will never change   
You wanna be the one in control  
You wanna be the one who's alive  
You wanna be the one who's old  
It's not a matter of luck, it's just a matter of time.~ -Thirty Seconds to Mars "Edge of the Earth"  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The Manor was in as much a state of uproar as could be expected, given the fact that a majority  
of it's occupants were either the cause, didn't care, or had been trained not too.   
  
It had been Delora, a house-elf of considerable stature in the Manor who had discovered the old  
mid-wife. She lay just beyond the new infant's pram, her necklace twisted about her neck, her  
body blue and lifeless. It had been her face that left Delora shaking for hour's after, twisted and  
ugly as it was, the mouth in an eternal silent scream, the eyes dead and still somehow  
frightening.  
Her body had been taken away to be buried in the village cemetery, there would be no funeral,  
no service for she had no family, and the handful of people left in the village neither cared nor  
wanted to know of her death.   
  
Narcissa Malfoy had taken considerably longer. It had been Kylie this time who discovered her  
missing. Her bedclothes tossed aside, the blood dried to a thick crust on the white sheets. Kylie  
hadn't given a second thought to the open balcony doors, nor the curtains that billowed from the  
night air outside. She had merely exited the room, and went to look for her mistress in another  
part of the expansive Manor. Narcissa of course wasn't to be found.   
  
It wasn't until the next morning that her body was discovered, floating face down, arms spread  
out to  
engulf the water's of the lake in a deathly embrace. It was Lucius who found her, and ordered  
her body removed from the water. If he cared he showed only one sign, and that was to pour a  
fresh glass of brandy and down it in one efficient gulp.   
  
As for the cause of these death's she was happily ensconced in a makeshift nursery, almost the  
size of a child a years past their birth. She could walk, and play, and parrot whatever was said to  
her with only a few words missing from her replies. Her black hair had grown out now, falling  
about a cherubic white face in soft curling tendrils, her eyes had lost none of their aged luster.   
  
Around her neck, hanging to the floor, was the crucifix, cleaned hours earlier by Delora. It shone  
in the light, looking like anything but the instrument of murder it was now.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione had spent the better part of the morning aimlessly wandering the corridors of her  
prison. They were twisted and woven in a pattern that would have taken a team of skilled  
architects a hundred years to master. Sometimes the ceiling shot to the stars, going so high into  
the air it was impossible to make it out through the dark, and sometimes it dipped so low she felt  
the urge to duck despite her small stature.   
  
It had been hours since she had seen anything familiar, which only told her the true size of the  
Palace, it's name was well deserved. It truly was a Palace, from it's antique furniture covered in  
layers of dust, the moth eaten velvet and holey silk drapes that hung from every barred window,  
to it's all marble floors and expensive Wedgewood crystal.   
  
Once, she was sure it had been beautiful, but something had taken all that beauty away, and  
turned it into this dark place that seemed to suck the life from all who inhabited it. It was still  
beautiful, in a way. Wondering about it's past, taking in the surroundings, kept her from thinking  
about the events of the past few days, it made the weight in the back of her mind seem a bit  
lighter. If only she could keep from thinking.   
  
Her hands idly ran across the marble walls on either side of her, skipping over the grooves and  
lines in the stone, comforted by it's coolness. She could remember doing something similar as a  
child, running her hands along the bumpy concrete of her school's walls, trying to keep from  
thinking  
about the girl's who had more friends then her. But now, what she was trying to keep her  
thoughts away from was so much more complicated then who she spent the lunch hour with,  
now it was a matter of life and death.   
  
She wasn't sure if she would ever get back to the small fraction of space the little group stuck to,  
and she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Here it was quite, here it wasn't so dreary. The light that  
came in from the huge arched windows was better here, unobstructed by heavy drapes, for the  
ones across these windows were in far worse condition. So she walked on.   
  
She opened doors, leaning her weight against those stuck from too many years of going  
unopened, peeking into the abandoned rooms. They were all basically the same. Bedrooms  
beside  
private parlors, private parlors beside private studies. Once in awhile there was an area for  
entertaining, with heavily cushioned sofas one could get lost in, and the high-backed armchairs  
that seemed to reign supreme throughout the house. But everywhere there was an attention to  
detail, for not to long ago someone had loved this house. Loved it enough to buy Wedgewood  
and  
expensive art, both still relatively clean given the newness. Once someone had tried to breathe  
life here, but someone had failed and it had fallen again into disrepair.  
  
True to Draco's words there were no doors or unbarred window's leading to the outside, and  
while there was a strange absence of magical artifacts, the feeling in it spoke of the Dark Arts.  
But  
she had checked for doors and windows to free them, and that was better then just assuming.   
  
It was a good three hours before she finally reached the end, her progress would have taken only  
a few minutes if she hadn't gone so slowly, or stopped to explore, but she had finally reached  
what seemed to be the end. The twisting corridor had finally stopped. At it's end was the same  
pair of heavy oak doors present at the entrance to every other important room in the house and  
there was nothing else. Her hand pressed against the handle in the middle, turning the knob  
there, and she pushed it  
open.   
  
  
What she saw beyond the door made her breath fly out in a whoosh of gasped surprise. Her eyes  
widened and she stepped further into the room, the door falling shut behind her.   
  
It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. A room of crystal, the domed glass ceiling  
curved down to full size windows that stretched the length and height of the room. Instead of the  
usual wrought iron bars of sturdy black, curving stems of steel roses wove back and forth across  
the walls of glass, curling up to the peak of the dome where it swirled.   
  
The snow had settled on the ceiling, clinging to it. The dim sunlight that peeked through  
gray clouds made it twinkle, giving more light to the room then Hermione had seen in what felt  
like years.   
  
The stone was the same smooth marble as the rest of the Palace, but here it was bright, shiny,  
and somehow warmer, it stretched the length of the circular room, completely bare until one  
reached the walls.   
  
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. It only got better. Along the wall of glass in large black  
boxes were what had to be a thousand different types of flowers, gardenias, roses, hyacinths,  
sprigs of lavender, every flower Hermione could possibly imagine lined the length of the entire  
room, save for the small space directly in front of her where instead of the black boxes of  
flowers there was a silver rectangular box of unknown purpose.   
  
"Oh my god," Hermione whispered, her hand moving from her mouth to her cloak, clutching the  
metal clasp in her hands.   
  
It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, and it was situated right at the midst of hell.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Draco had almost allowed himself to sleep. His eyes had fluttered closed and his head had sunk  
lower into his hand. The words on the page had started blurring together hours ago.   
  
It was this moment, this wonderful moment of peace when Hermione decided to ruin everything.  
  
The doors to the library burst open. His surprise sent his hand shooting out, his head fell down  
onto the table, his chin smacking the oak. He winced, and warily opened one eye. She wasn't in  
trouble, it was not the hurried gaze of someone who was frightened, but the excited bounce of  
someone who has a secret to share.   
  
"What IS IT?" He was beyond grumpy. He hadn't slept in two days, he had every reason to be a  
bit cranky.   
  
"You have to see this."   
  
Hermione had already raced around the table, yanking his arm up, tugging on it ineffectually.  
She tried again, attempting to yank him up from his seat, but Draco was not a small boy and  
Hermione was not a big girl. He looked at her, his annoyance evident in every plane of his face,  
and especially in the angry tick of his jaw.   
  
"Come on, it's important," she urged. Draco remained unmovable, regarding her with annoyed,  
sleep-weary eyes, and a petulant expression. Hermione sighed, the excitement over her discovery  
only increasing her frustration at him.   
  
"I was so close to getting to sleep," Draco was saying. "So close, and you ruined it."   
  
Hermione ignored him, trying again to give a tug on his arm.   
  
"You're not gong to believe what I've found," she said. "Come on."   
  
Annoyed Draco shook her arm off, and stood, brushing the sleeve of his shirt off, straightening  
the creases in the sleeve.   
  
"Fine," he snapped. Hermione had already grabbed his hand and was making for the doors, her  
voice rising in excitement as she babbled on about diamonds and flowers or something. Draco  
closed his eyes, wondering if it was possible to sleep while being dragged along.  
  
  
He had almost managed this feat, despite the abrupt twists and turns, and the determined pace at  
which Hermione intended he walk, her hand clasped with his, fingers laced around him. It was  
almost pleasant, strolling along the corridors, him trusting her to lead him, eyes closed, trying to  
snatch back those last vestiges of sleep.   
  
She walked so fast they were practically running, the pace much easier for him to manage at  
length then her, due to his longer legs, and they walked for many minutes.   
  
"Where are we going?" he asked after a bit. His eyes opened, and Hermione had turned her head,  
still walking, to regard him for a minute, the first glimpse of a smile overtaking her  
face.   
  
"You'll see," she said mysteriously and continued to yank him along. He contented himself with  
giving her hand a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze, and closing his eyes again. He trusted her  
to lead him without injury, and it was a rare thing to be able to.   
  
It was only a few minutes more before she suddenly stopped. Hands still clasped she let out a  
tiny noise of excited anticipation and twisted the handle in the middle of the door, letting it  
swing open. She yanked him inside.   
  
Draco opened his eyes, and then closed them again. For surely nothing this beautiful could exist  
in a place such as the Winter Palace. Hermione gave another tug on his hand, prompting him to  
reopen his eyes. He did.   
  
The splendor of the room was not something he could put into words, and he found his mouth  
moving as if to make them, but lacking the ability to form them. Hermione gave a smug,  
triumphant grin beside him, as if to say "Didn't I tell you it as worth it?". Draco's eyes flew  
about the room, taking in it's architecture, it's beauty, it's warmth and light. They traveled over  
the exotic species of flowers, over the glass walls bright with the little sunlight that peeked  
through the gray clouds.   
  
He had heard of this place, remembered it from his daydreams and the stories his mother had  
told him as a boy. But never in all his wildest imaginings had it been this lovely, and never had  
he allowed himself to believe it was real.   
  
"God," he whispered. Hermione nodded, even though he wasn't paying her the least bit of  
attention, she'd had much the same reaction, and could appreciate his wonder. Even after seeing  
it, and taking it in for a liberal amount of time, the room still took her breath away.   
  
"It's their room," Draco whispered, his hand clutched her's tighter. So caught up was she in the  
increased pressure, and the thrill that went up her arm from it that she almost didn't register his  
words.   
  
"Whose?"   
  
Draco looked at her, his eyes wide with wonder, sparkling with disbelief, and Hermione's breath  
caught. There WAS something more beautiful then this place, and she never would have  
believed  
it before.   
  
"Lancelot and Guinevere's," he murmured. Draco released her hand, and Hermione felt a flare  
of disappointment. Instead she hugged her arms to her chest, watching him. He walked across  
the length of the room, his hand grazing the flowers, lightly brushing their petals, running across  
the black boxes they lived in. It moved upwards, to press against the cold glass of the walls,  
running along the length of the steel roses that caged them inside of this beautiful prison.   
  
"I didn't think it was real," Draco admitted. "I mean they're just character's from a story right?"  
Hermione nodded, curious, and more then a bit confused, but thirsting for knowledge as always.   
  
"My mother used to sit with me, when my father was away and tell me the story of Camelot, and  
the Lady of the Lakes," he went on. "And she told me of after."   
  
"And what does that have to do with this place?" Hermione asked. Draco gave her a smirk.   
  
"I'm getting there," he said, a bit annoyed by her impatience. It was after all a story, and  
deserved to be told as such.   
  
"After the King discovered Lancelot and Guinevere's treachery, he ordered Guinevere burned at  
the stake for treason, and Lancelot had fled in order to save his own life," Draco said. "But just  
as Guinevere was about to be put to death Lancelot showed up and saved her."   
  
Hermione sighed.  
She knew this part already, but Draco was not to be deterred. Instead, he grabbed her hand,  
pulling her down to the cold marble, where they sat, legs crossed as he told the tale he had heard  
so many times. "Lancelot saved her, but it was only a few minutes before they were both  
captured again, and brought before Arthur. Arthur loved them both very much, and he would  
have rather died then hurt them, but their crime was considered treason and if he had let them go  
free he would have been considered a weak ruler indeed, leaving his beautiful kingdom at risk.  
So he ordered that they both be put to death the next morning," Draco smiled now. "But during  
the night he stole away to the prison and told them to flee the kingdom, giving them the means  
to escape. He told them to go to Merlin, who would help them, and then he wished both of them  
goodbye. He was killed of course later, soft-hearted fool."   
  
Hermione winced at this, but he didn't see it and continued on.  
  
"So they went to Merlin, and bade him to give them a sanctuary, free from the anger of those  
who loved Arthur enough to kill them both for their treachery. Merlin loved Arthur as well, and  
had seen what lay in his future, and while it angered him, he did as Arthur bid and helped  
them." Draco motioned around him again. "This place, is located out of time and reality, in a  
purely magical realm, untouched by any other's then those who have the keeping of it. " He  
smiled then. "I don't know how the Malfoy's came into possession of it, and I don't much care."   
  
Hermione nodded, understanding, but wanting him to continue with how this room proved the  
tale his mother had told him.   
  
"Merlin was angry at Lancelot and Guinevere for what they had done, but he was bound to serve  
Arthur, so he led them to Ynys Wyth, or "The Dragon's Isle" and in this magical realm built for  
them a palace and a prison, untouchable to all that sought them." Hermione's mouthed dropped  
open.   
  
"That's horrible," she whispered. Draco nodded.   
  
"He was pretty pissed," he agreed. "The place was as it is now apparently, dark, forbidding and  
utterly miserable, with no way out unless you have the magical means, which Lancelot and  
Guinevere did not, being muggles," he said the word with a bit of the old disdain, head tilted up,  
scanning the room once more. "My mother told me that because he was not an entirely cruel  
man he gave them one reprieve, a place in their prison of beauty and happiness. I think that's  
this place," Hermione nodded in agreement, she could see that. Just being her made her heart  
and her head feel lighter.   
  
"They died here, on the same day, within the same hour," Draco whispered, "And Merlin buried  
them with Arthur, so the three could be together forever." His eyes caught Hermione's and for a  
moment they were trapped in each other's gazes, the beauty of the room overtaking them.   
  
It was several minutes before Hermione blushed, ducking her head and looking away.   
  
"That's...that's a very nice story," she said lamely. Draco smirked at her again, pleased at having  
unnerved her. He pushed himself to his feet, his attention caught by the same bright silver box  
that had interested her before.  
  
He made his way over to it. It's metal surface was covered in etched drawings, of young lovers  
locked in a timeless embrace, whirling away to unheard music. He moved himself behind it, and  
saw what appeared to be a bright gold lever, small and easily missed. With the curiosity that  
comes from being denied nothing in life he had no reserves about pushed it down.   
  
It was several moments before anything happened, and Draco felt that keen sense of  
disappointment born of anticipating something exciting and being failed. He shrugged,  
and started back to Hermione, and then the music started.   
  
Hermione gasped, her eyes flying from Draco to the box, which sat just as it had, but despite it's  
unmoved appearance something had happened, and music filled the room.   
  
Draco looked just as surprised as she, his eyes turning to the box. The melody that seemed to  
come not from the box but from the room itself, was beautiful, melancholy and sweet. And the  
feel of it seemed to overtake them.   
  
Wordlessly, as if driven by something Draco couldn't quite understand he slowly made his way  
to her, lifting her hand. Hermione nodded her assent, not knowing what, in her head, she was  
agreeing to, but feeling that she did. She couldn't speak, and knew he couldn't either. Silently he  
drew her into his arms, hand at her waist, her hand clasped in his, feeling the warmth of him.  
And then they begin to dance, controlled by something, the music perhaps, but whatever it was,  
it was wonderful.   
  
The room was made for dancing, all open space, with no furniture to stop them, and the music  
filled it perfectly.   
  
Hermione had never danced like this in her life, but somehow she knew how. It was a waltz of  
sorts, not the old-fashioned kind that involved leaving the embrace of your partner, but the kind  
where you were lost in each other, clutching without being very close, but still it was intimate.   
  
Draco's silver eyes burned into her own hazel ones, confused, but pleased, and his face mirrored  
her own. She couldn't have pulled away if she'd wanted to, something was driving them to do  
this.   
  
He turned her expertly, every bit the leading man, and she fit in his arms perfectly. His hand  
clasped her own gently, the hand at her waist burning through the fabric of her white gown. They  
whirled to the music, locked in each other's gazes. Something swelled within them, and still they  
danced. Draco's fingers at her waist twitched imperceptibly and for one wild fleeting moment  
she  
feared that the spell was broken and he was going to leave her, but he only clutched a bit tighter.   
  
They twirled, and moved with easy grace, with no concept of time or place, only each other. She  
couldn't find the voice to speak, and she hadn't the need to, for if she had the beautiful moment  
of whirling in his arms would be broken. It felt so comfortable here, moving across the marble  
floor to this melody, with him. Her lips curved into a smile, and while his face remained the  
same impassive mask it always was, she could see the same in his eyes.   
  
And then the music stopped, and they froze, still locked in the dance. His eyes searched her face,  
running over the skin he knew so well by now, brushing by her eyes, the arch of her eyebrows,  
her full cheeks, and then it rested on her lips. Hermione knew he was going to kiss her, just as he  
knew, and before he could check himself he had done it. Hermione's eyes fell closed.   
  
His lips brushed hers softly, once, then twice, and then when they came back again for a third  
time they caught hers. Hermione felt his hand dropped from her own, joining it's mate on her  
waist, and she responded in kind, her arms slipping up the soft fabric of his shirt, over the hard  
muscles of his chest, and around his neck.   
  
His lips moved across hers, soft but firm, memorizing their contours, and then those beautiful  
full lips of her's parted, and the kiss deepened. They were clutching at each other now,  
desperate. The kiss exploding from a few chaste brushing of lips to full on ardor. It sent her  
reeling, her senses flush with panic, with excitement, and with something she couldn't place.  
Her arms pulled him closer, her body pressing against his as he assaulted her lips.   
  
And then it was over. Draco yanked himself away, out of her grasp out of her reach, and when  
she opened her eyes she was met by his wild-eyed expression, a mix of confusion and regret. She  
swallowed.   
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," he said, voice ragged, his chest heaving. Hermione  
opened her mouth to respond, but he was already gone, closed off again. He brushed by her,  
making his way to the door. Hermione wanted to call him back, to tell him that it was okay, to  
plead with him not to shut down again, but she couldn't find her voice, and before she could the  
door had already closed and he was gone.   
  
Hermione stared dully at the room, it's beauty not lost on her even now. Her lips still burned,  
and she was still trying to catch her breath. He really shouldn't have done that, because now, she  
wasn't sure she could forget it.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Lucius looked at the girl, and suppressed a shudder, of fear, of dread, of disgust. All of these and  
none of them at the same time. She looked innocent enough, with her curls of deepest black,  
playing with some old toy of Draco's on the floor as if she had not a care in the world. But she  
was not innocent, and she was not a child. She was so much more then that.   
  
She had smiled up at him, her white teeth shining in the light, and it had been a smile that sent  
shiver's down his spine. She had clutched his hand and tried ineffectually to pull him down, and  
when that didn't work she had fair yanked him to his position on the floor. She was too strong  
for a girl her size, and as she grinned across the floor at him, Lucius knew that she was stronger  
in other areas too. Her aura reeked of power, and more then once she had managed to pull  
something to her without even touching it, it was slight and almost imperceptible, but the bear  
she had been amusing herself with seemed to slide itself across the floor when it was too far  
away. She was very special indeed.   
  
She was growing tremendously fast, just as he had been told she would, the size of a small  
toddler now, able to form short sentences and demand what she wanted in a cute 4 year old's  
voice that set his teeth on edge.   
  
She had insisted that he join her for this game, and he was trying to keep himself as far away as  
was possible without evoking her ire. He had things to do, Narcissa's funeral to see too for one,  
but yet he found himself playing stupid games with a child. The truth was she frightened him,  
and Lucius was not a man that was easily frightened, especially not by a baby. But it was a fact  
that could not be escaped.   
  
"You hold teddy," the girl commanded, and she placed the brown fluffy object in his hands, her  
eyes twinkling. He looked away, those eyes were what did it, they were what caused the fear.  
They were bright and violet and too wise for a girl of her size, eyes that would have looked  
better on the mistress of the devil, eyes that were as old as evil. They seemed to calculate, taking  
in their surroundings, and finding them lacking but tolerable. Her eyes had taken him in, and  
been pleased, he was a man who would do her bidding, a man who could serve a purpose. He  
was a man who feared her, and that was the very best game of all.   
  
"Have you, ah-" Lucius felt suddenly stupid talking to this little girl, he felt like an idiot for  
fearing her. Who could be afraid of a child who wanted nothing more then for him to play with  
her teddy bear. "-Have you decided on a name for this...bear?" He asked. Desdemona seemed to  
give  
this some serious consideration, her brow furrowing. Apparently she had not. She sat there for a  
few moments, silent, her eyes roaming over the bear clutched in his hands, as if it could tell her  
it's true name. Finally she spoke.   
  
"I will name him Nija," the girl pronounced seriously. Lucius nodded, thinking it to be the  
stringing together of random syllables, as children were prone to do. "Mommy say's Nija is a  
very  
good name."   
  
Lucius frowned. As far as he knew Desdemona's last glimpse of her mother had  
been at birth, and Narcissa had certainly not told her that.   
  
"Your mommy didn't tell you that," he said sternly, feeling silly trying to teach a child to be  
honest while holding a teddy bear. Desdemona nodded firmly.   
  
"Yes she did, you've never met my mommy," the girl said. "You will soon though!" Her voice  
was cheerful as she took Nija from him, clutching it too her.   
  
"I want food, you will give me food now," she grabbed his hand, tugging at him. Lucius sighed,  
he was not a babysitter, but despite his anger he found himself being led, hunched over, by this  
slip of a girl. Voldemort had been very clear when he'd said he wanted his child taken care of,  
and Lucius was positive that the girl would make sure he did just that.   
  
His hand itched where she clutched it, it almost burned and he resisted the urge to snatch it away  
and cradle it against himself. She was just a girl he told himself, she couldn't hurt him. But  
Lucius wasn't so sure.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kylie had been sitting there for what felt like ever, in the room's only chair. She had never  
ventured in here before, she wasn't sure anyone had, there was no reason to. No one important  
had ever died at Malfoy Manor, until now.   
  
Her mistress, her good, kind mistress was dead, and Kylie couldn't bring herself to cry for her.  
Because it was better this way. She felt numb, cold, and somehow relieved. Narcissa would  
suffer no more, and that was a comfort at least.  
  
Kylie's mind had flashed through all her memories of the woman, trying to find something,  
anything that would point to the act as wrong. But there was nothing. If anything Narcissa had  
done what most people were too cowardly to do, and now she was free.   
  
But still Kylie couldn't move. She could only sit, staring at the woman, who seemed to be  
sleeping peacefully on the high stone slab, her hands laid on her stomach, her eyes closed.  
Unseeing forever.   
  
She had known something was wrong the minute she had stepped into the room and found  
Narcissa gone. But she hadn't known how wrong. Kylie took a shuddering breath and tried to  
force herself to move, but it was pointless, she could only sit and stare. Narcissa had been good  
to her, and while she had been lost in a world all her own, she had never been cruel, giving Kylie  
as much freedom as she could. And now she was gone, and Kylie was trapped her, alone, with  
him.   
  
Lucius had started his attentions years ago, when she was barely past the age of twelve and he  
had never ceased. She could always tell when he would come for her, she could hear it in the  
quick stride of his boots, see it in his darkened eyes. It was not an everyday occurrence, he was  
not a lustful man, but it was regular and horrible.  
  
At first she had fought him, clawing and kicking, and never had he ordered her to stop. Even  
though it was in his power to do so. If anything he seemed to enjoy it when she fought. So she  
had stopped, and resorted to lying dead, and lifeless as he continued his work. She wasn't sure  
which he preferred, but he seemed to enjoy both.   
  
She shuddered in fear, in revulsion. She knew the only thing that had held him back from  
keeping Kylie in his own chambers had been Narcissa. Kylie believed that at one time he had  
loved the woman, who lay dead now in this darkened room, and that it was his  
distant love for her that held him back from forcing Kylie to be everything he wanted her to be.  
It was his love for Narcissa that kept their visits sparse. And now Narcissa was gone, and there  
was nothing to stand in his way.   
  
Kylie was so absorbed in her thoughts, so intent on trying to work out a way to keep him away  
that she didn't notice the door opening. She didn't notice the tiny figure enter the room.   
  
Desdemona looked at the girl for a moment, head cocked in curiosity, clutching the bear in her  
arms. A new playmate, she thought happily and put on her best, most-winning smile.   
  
"Hello!" Kylie tore her eyes from Narcissa. She resisted the urge to shriek in surprise, and  
instead turned her  
gaze full force onto the girl.   
  
"Hello," Kylie whispered. She felt it again, that wave of evil, washing over her, dulling her  
senses with fear. It was impossible. She had been just a baby yesterday and now...but Kylie knew  
it was true. The girl looked innocent enough, clutching a teddy bear and smiling at her.   
  
"Wanna see a trick?" The girl asked eagerly. Kylie wanted nothing of the sort, she wanted to  
leave, but she felt herself nodding anyway. It felt as if her head were being pulled by strings and  
her eyes widened. The girl just smiled and held up a hand.   
  
Desdemona snapped her fingers, and Kylie shrieked.   
  
Where a girl had stood moments before there was nothing but a faint wisp of curling black  
smoke, that twisted and writhed it's way to the ceiling before it disappeared.   
  
"Over here silly," the girl said and Kylie shot out of her chair, whirling around. The girl  
continued to grin, pleased. She raised her hand again and snapped.   
  
"Over here," Kylie whirled again, her heart pounding. The girl was to the right now, on the other  
side of Narcissa. Kylie swallowed, teeth clenched together to keep from screaming, that was  
what she wanted to do. The wave continued to wash over her, with every flash of the child's  
eyes, with every snap of her fingers. She wanted to run.   
  
"Want to play a game?" The girl asked, she did not snap her fingers again, but instead clutched  
the bear tighter, walking around the stone block, her head cocked to one side again. Kylie shook  
her  
head, continuing to walk slowly backwards towards the door. Kylie never took her eyes off the  
child, it would have been a mistake.   
  
Desdemona pouted for a moment.   
  
"Well *I* do," she said. "What should we play?" Kylie knew she shouldn't be afraid of this  
child, with her high little girl voice, and her curl's, and her teddy bear. But Kylie was certain she  
had never been more afraid of anyone in her life. She took another step backwards to the door.   
  
"I-" she sputtered. "I have work to do. I can't play with you."   
  
The girl shook her head, resting her chin on the top of the bear's head.   
  
"I don't think you do," Desdemona's eyes flashed. "You WILL play with me." Kylie took  
another step backwards, almost tripping over her feet. Her hand was outstretched, reaching back  
for the handle of the door. The little girl was eyeing her, in an almost predatory manner and her  
feet itched to run, her heart beat against her ribs and she was certain the little girl could hear it. It  
thundered in Kylie's ears at least, blocking out all rationale.   
  
"It'll be a fun game," Desdemona promised. "All you have to do is run." Those horrible violet  
eyes flashed. Her voice, with it's high-pitched quality was suddenly menacing. "Now."   
  
And Kylie did just that.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was coming back, the dark was rushing in, and the pain of it made her legs go out. Hermione  
crumbled to the floor of the beautiful room. She had been so certain they couldn't touch her  
here, but here they were.   
  
Her fingers clutched at smooth marble, and her body shuddered as the piercing hit her again.   
  
Violet, she was seeing violet. Purple and swirling, flashing in the light, the black in the middle  
of it growing, shrinking, only to grow again.   
  
And then the picture changed, her body spasming. There was blood. There was always blood, it  
covered her hands  
and dripped onto the floor, slick and hot it ran in rivulets down the black of her dress.   
  
The blood flashed and now it was something else. It was a puppy, cute and black, curled into a  
ball on the same marble floor. But there was something wrong. Hermione bit back a scream as  
she realized what. Dead, the puppy was dead, split open lying in a pool of blood.   
  
Her eyes closed and the picture changed again. A table, she was lying on a table, one made of  
steel, cool and hard against her skin, and then there was pain, exploding from her hand.  
Hermione turned her head, and she had just made out the hilt of a dagger before the picture  
changed again.   
  
She was floating, supported by a cloud of green mist. Like a crucifixion. Her body shuddered  
again, and the picture changed.   
  
Black hair, long legs, flashing violet eyes, and evil, pure evil.   
  
Hermione screamed, and then there was black.   
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Draco had wanted to go apologize again, to explain WHY he was sorry. He was certain she  
would get the wrong idea, so he had turned around. He was not a courageous boy, courage was  
for people like the Gryffindor's, but he was not nice either, and look how much he had stuck to  
that principle lately.   
  
He had just wanted to explain it to her. They were different and he couldn't do that to her. She  
was all goodness and purity, always doing the right thing. And he was a child of a Death Eater,  
destined to take over the Malfoy Family reigns and steer his family to the pinnacle of the Dark  
Lord's power. It was his destiny, it's what he had been trained from birth to do. No matter how  
much he didn't want to. He couldn't let her taint herself like that. Her stupid Gryffindor pals  
would never forgive her, and if he ever saw them again he could be sure they'd kill him.   
  
Then there was his father. He didn't even want to think about what his father would do to her.  
Especially now that he had the means to do whatever he liked. Draco shuddered.   
  
He had just started back, walking slowly, knowing that she was still there, and if she wasn't he  
would meet her in the hallway. And then he heard her scream.   
  
So he did what he seemed to be doing a lot lately. He ran to her.   
  
Hermione looked dead when he entered the room, and for a moment he couldn't move. A  
thousand horrible feelings ran through him, one after another, circling and coming back full  
force. She couldn't be dead.   
  
His heart  
pounded and he was frozen. But she was still thankfully breathing, and it was that first  
shuddering breath that  
set him to action.   
  
He gathered the unconscious girl in his arms, clutching her to him. The visions, it had to be the  
visions. There was nothing else here that he could see, and she was basically okay. He breathed  
in the  
scent of her hair. She was okay. He didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't been. It  
was too much to think about.   
  
"Hermione," he whispered. She didn't respond, but he really hadn't expected her too. He had  
seen his mother like this more then once. He rose to his feet, carrying her with him, cradled in  
the safety of his arms. He wouldn't need to apologize, she would understand. She had too. And  
truthfully he didn't really think she cared overmuch at the moment, she had far more important  
things to worry about.   
  
So he walked, fully intent on putting her in her bed, and he hoped that she wouldn't dream. She  
had enough nightmares when she was awake.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Kylie's feet were burning, and more then once she had fallen, tripping over the long hem of her  
skirt. She had bashed her knees on the floor, skidded into furniture, and cried out each and every  
time she heard the giggle, and the snapping of fingers. But no one had come. No one would help  
her.   
  
Kylie had been scared many times in her life, she had lived in fear for most of it, but never had it  
been like this. Pure, unadulterated emotion, with no comfort to be sought anywhere.   
  
She had started crying in the middle of it, her chest heaved with the sobs and the great gasps of  
air, her sides ached with the exertion. But still she ran, sometimes she crawled if her legs gave  
way, and still no one had come. Kylie's face was sticky with the tears she hadn't been able to  
wipe away, her hands raw from smacking them against the stone when she fell, and still the girl  
chased her.   
  
Like an invisible ghostly specter she had followed Kylie from room to room, down the dark  
twisting corridors, never to be seen, only heard. The faint giggle, a gasp of delight, and the snap  
of her fingers. She was always there, and Kylie couldn't get away, she couldn't find peace.   
  
Each room was empty, the furniture undisturbed, but she had sensed the little girl's presence and  
so she ran on. Slipping and sliding across smooth stone, tripping and falling to whack it dully,  
and then getting back up again.   
  
Kylie rounded a corner, barely dodging the full suit of armor in the new corridor. She was  
burning, and she was so tired, her throat aching from her gasping. But still the girl wouldn't stop.   
  
"Don't slow down silly," a cheerful voice intoned. "Our game isn't over yet." Kylie felt another  
sob tear  
out of her chest, but she was too consumed with the burning in her legs, and the sharp stabs of  
pain in her sides to worry too much about it. Tears, hot and wet ran down her face, and she had  
ripped her skirt somewhere along the way. And no one would help her.   
  
She'd screamed and pleaded, till her throat was raw but it did no good. No one came, the house-  
elves had ducked away, the other servants were in hiding. And she was alone.   
  
Kylie felt the fabric of her dress tangle again, and she closed her eyes as her body pitched  
forward. It didn't matter now, she was too tired to care. She smacked the stone with a dull  
thump, banging her knee against it. She just wanted peace.   
  
"You lose," Desdemona cried happily, she could see that Kylie had no intention of getting up.  
Kylie  
rested her cheek against the cool stone, shaking from exertion, her breath hitching from the sobs,  
shuddering from the great heaving gasps she took. Her head was swimming, and little dots of red  
flashed in front of her eyes, blurry with tears. She wanted to vomit, but it was just too much  
effort to get up.   
  
"Desdemona," somebody snapped, and Kylie knew she had never been glad to hear that voice  
until now. Her eyes fell closed in gratitude, and if she could of picked herself up she would  
have kissed his robes. Lucius glared at the little girl, who was doing her best to look sorry but  
failing miserably, her lips kept twisting into a smile. "Come with me." Lucius held out his hand,  
and the girl skipped over obediently, clutching her teddy in her hands. Lucius cast a look over to  
Kylie, who lay sprawled on the floor, her hair stuck to the sticky lines of tears on her face, her  
elbow bruised and bloodied. He swallowed and resisted the urge to smack the little child.   
  
It was better that he refrained, for he had no urge to die today.   
  
"Where are we going?" Desdemona held up her arms, and Lucius obediently bent to pick her up.   
  
"We're going to see my son," Lucius said, taking a giant step over the prone form of Kylie on the  
floor. "Draco."   
  
"Draco," the girl whispered. Desdemona was quite certain it was the most beautiful name she  
had ever heard. She had been told by the whisper in her ear that it was important. She cast one  
look at the Kylie over Lucius's shoulder and smiled. It had been a  
fun game, she decided. Very fun.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Draco could feel it when they entered. It was like every hair on his neck stood proudly to  
attention, and a cold unlike any that he had ever known swept over him. His skin rose into little  
goose bumps and he shivered.   
  
Hermione felt it too. She had been silent since he had found her, peaceful in her bed. Then she  
started moaning, violent shudders wracking her body, jerking her about the bed. And no matter  
how many times he replaced the heap of blankets she just threw them off again.   
  
Draco stood, turning towards the door. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. Lucius Malfoy  
was here, and he had brought someone with him. Draco had seen Voldemort before, he had  
bowed and scraped to him, and he knew his aura. This was not Voldemort. This was a different  
evil.   
  
So Draco waited, standing before the door, placing his body between it and Hermione. She was  
too weak now, Lucius couldn't take her now. And Draco would try to keep him from doing that.   
  
He didn't have to wait long, it was just a few minutes before he heard the heavy boots outside  
of the room, the bang of the door flying open across the hall. Probably Lucius throwing it open,  
looking for him.  
And then his own door flew open.   
  
Lucius took a step back, as if surprised that he had actually found the boy. Then Lucius regained  
composure, shifting the girl in his arms a bit, she was squirming, turning her head to look at his  
son.   
  
"Father," Draco gave him a nod, his eyes flying from his father's cold face to that of the girl.  
Draco swallowed. She was looking at him as if he was a very tasty bit of meat, her small mouth  
twisted into a smile of such complete ruthless joy that it almost floored him. He knew the cause  
of his fear.   
  
Lucius wasted no times with pleasantries, there would be no point. He simply set Desdemona on  
the ground, and turned to his son, his expression grim. Draco forced himself to tear his eyes from  
the child, who clutched her bear, her eyes raking his body, taking him in, her eyes flashing.  
Something was wrong. Draco turned his eyes on his father, who was trying to look remorseful,  
and failing miserably.   
  
"Your mother," Lucius bit out. "Is dead."   
  
Draco's heart stopped. His mind went blank. His first thought was that Lucius was lying, that  
perhaps this was some kind of sick test. His second was that it was true, and if it was he was as  
good as dead. With Narcissa out of the picture he had no one left to protect him, and that left  
Lucius  
free to seek a new wife, free to seek a new heir. His third thought was that he knew the cause.  
His eyes flew to the little girl. His new sister it seemed. Draco suppressed a bitter laugh. It  
looked  
as if Lucius hadn't gotten his new heir after all. A female inheriting was impossible. It also  
looked as if his mother had been having a little dalliance behind his father's back. No one in the  
Malfoy line had hair that dark, or eyes that horrible. The girl just smiled up at him, and took a  
step forward.   
  
"How," Draco had thought he was under control. But his voice broke, it sounded high and  
desperate even to his own ears, laced with unshed tears. Tears that would never be shed if he  
could help it.   
  
"She took her own life," Lucius said coldly. "I knew there was a weakness for that in her  
family."  
  
Draco felt his legs quiver, threatening to give out, but he wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction of  
seeing him be weak as well. He would be weak in private thank you very much. So he did the  
only thing he could, he squared his shoulders, threw his head back and returned his father's gaze.  
It was typical that Lucius didn't care.   
  
"It's inconvenient," Lucius was saying. "I would have liked for her ashes to be placed in the  
family  
tomb, but that is impossible of course."  
  
"Of course," Draco bit out. Suicide was no joke in the Malfoy family, many of it's ancestors had  
taken their lives, and as such, they had been cut out of the history books completely, leaving  
huge  
gaps in time and unresolved endings to many of the stories. They were buried in unmarked  
graves, in unconsecrated ground. Draco resisted the urge to laugh again. Suicide was a sin,  
unforgivable in a family of sinners. The hilarity didn't escape him.   
  
"I will come for you tomorrow, I assume you'd like to be present at her cremation," Lucius said.  
Draco didn't nod, he just stared at his father an unspoken yes passing between them. Lucius  
cleared his throat and gave a little nod. "Right then. I'll bring Kylie back after she  
has...recovered... to watch over the girl." Draco swallowed. After Kylie had recovered, the words  
rang in his head, weaving with Your mother is dead like some kind of horrible song.   
  
Desdemona, oblivious to the conversation had crossed the room in tiny toddler's steps, clutching  
her bear. She hadn't taken her eyes off of Draco, he was beautiful. Just as her mother had said.  
Beautiful and hers.   
  
Wordlessly she held up her bear to him. Draco tore his eyes from his father's and looked at the  
girl, solemnly holding up her teddy bear, he recognized it as one of his. He wanted to step back  
from her, revulsion and anger making his stomach churn as he looked at her. He didn't take the  
bear and after a few moments the girl gave up, and let the bear fall forgotten to the floor.   
  
"This is Desdemona," Lucius motioned to the girl.   
  
"Your daughter," Draco bit out, and was atakenback by the dry laugh his father emitted at his  
words.   
  
"Yes, MY daughter," Lucius shook his head. "You're not that stupid Draco." Draco didn't  
respond, for the girl had taken ahold of his cloak, running small pale fingers across it's fabric,  
clutching at him.   
  
"I want him." Desdemona turned back to look at the man who had played with her before. She  
still couldn't pronounce his name so she had taken to calling him Lu-Lu. He didn't seem pleased  
with this, so she had decided to call him nothing at all. That is, after all, what he was. Nothing.   
  
"We take him with us," she commanded.   
  
Lucius shook his head. "You can't have him." That was a mistake. The little girl dropped her  
hand from Draco's robes, and turned slowly. Lucius swallowed. Her feet were an elbow's width  
apart, her body squared and ready for something, and her eyes flashed, dangerous and angry.   
  
"I WILL have him," her cheerful little girl's voice had deepened, and it grated on his nerves even  
more now,  
sending a shiver down his spine. Lucius felt suddenly very small, and could only nod.   
  
"We'll...talk to your father," Lucius forced the words out, absently rubbing his hands, sweaty  
now, against his cloak. But this seemed to appease the girl, for she nodded and visibly relaxed,  
all the anger fading from her slight form. She turned to look at Draco.   
  
"Soon we can play together," she promised. Draco swallowed, and flinched as her hand reached  
up to grasp his own for a second before she dashed back to Lucius. His fingers burned where she  
had  
touched them, a slight itching between the digits.   
  
"We'll come for you tomorrow," Lucius pulled the little girl into his arms, and she gave Draco a  
parting glance, full of promise before they swept from the room. He waited a few minutes, until  
he was quite sure they had gone.   
  
And then Draco lost his control.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
Voldemort had returned sooner then expected, but it was necessary. His mistress had told him to  
return and see to his daughter. Desdemona was everything he had expected, he could feel her  
power, he knew her strength and relished in it. She was apart of him, and she would aid his rise  
to glory.   
  
He could feel her, he knew where she was, and his feet unconsciously made their way towards   
Lucius Malfoy's study, desperately seeking her. Yes, she was apart of him, the missing part. And  
he would give her everything he could. His Dark Little Princess.   
  
He wasted no time opening the door, and his eyes sought her out, ignoring his servant, who stood  
and bowed respectfully.   
  
She was beautiful, her hair the same silky black his had been in his youth, and she knew him the  
moment he walked in the room. Desdemona's tiny head peeked around Lucius's large form,  
eagerly seeking his eyes out. Yellow met violet, and father and daughter were reunited.   
  
"She's glorious," Voldemort said, it was not the breathy sentimental voice of a father, it was the  
hardened voice of a master, and Lucius nodded.  
  
"Indeed she is, my lord," Lucius said, even though he couldn't disagree more. This child was not  
glorious, she was frightening, she was destructive. Lucius's thoughts went to Kylie, who was  
now safely ensconced in his room, hidden away from the horrible girl, recovering for her duties  
the next day. She hadn't said a word to him when he had found her, still sprawled, weeping, on  
the same corridor floor he had left her at. She hadn't struggled when he had lifted her up into his  
arms and carried her swiftly down the hallway, the child nipping at his heels, looking pleased  
with herself. Kylie had whimpered at the sight of Desdemona, but that had been all, and when  
he shooed the child away Kylie had calmed, and fallen into a fitful sleep on the silk sheets of his  
bed. He eyed the girl for a minute and then ripped his eyes away, looking at his master with all  
the respect he could and stepped  
aside, letting the man get a good look at his devil spawn.   
  
Voldemort had never looked more pleased, even when the Muggles's had run away in terror and  
fallen dead to the ground at his boots, even when the mention of his name had struck terror in  
the hearts of  
the millions of foolish "good". It had taken a child, a simple, dark little child to get that look  
from him, and Lucius felt a swell of pride. He had given up his wife for this girl, he had given up  
his hold on his son for this child, and all for his master.   
  
Voldemort crossed the room in two strides, practically pushing Lucius aside to stand before the  
girl, who just looked up at him with those wide predatory eyes. Desdemona looked at him  
without fear or respect, in fact, as Lucius studied her, she looked superior, as if she had control  
over HIM. Which, Lucius decided, she probably could have. She reeked of power, and the air  
surrounding her fair cackled with the dark  
  
Voldemort took her in, she had grown considerably, much faster then he had anticipated. He had  
never known he could produce something beautiful, everything he had touched in his life had  
become twisted, gnarled and ugly. Desdemona was not ugly, not on the surface anyway, she was  
one of the most beautiful children he had ever seen. And he had killed many beautiful children.   
  
"Do you know who I am?" Voldemort asked, his voice hard, and booming. It echoed off the  
walls. Desdemona nodded eagerly, the black pencil she had been drawing with fell from her  
hands.   
  
"Father," she said matter-of-factly and Voldemort nodded please.   
  
"Yes." If Voldemort had been completely honest with himself he would have recognized the  
feeling of unease creeping up his spine, and if he had the power to feel he would have known it  
was fear that twisted his stomach. Instead he attributed it to a darker emotion, that of pride, that  
of greed and he smiled that toothy grin of his. He looked to Lucius, his yellow eyes shining.   
  
"Did you give her the ring?" Lucius shook his head, reaching into the folds of his robe to remove  
the tiny box.   
  
"I thought it too soon master," Lucius apologized. He handed the box to Voldemort. Voldemort  
waved his hand, disgusted and turned his attention back to his child.   
  
Desdemona regarded him with the earnestness of a girl who know's she is about to receive a  
present, and she swung her legs in anticipation.   
  
Voldemort kneeled, as if proposing, and held out the tiny back box to her, opening it with one  
deft movement of his hand, to reveal the ring inside. Desdemona let out a tiny squeal of excited  
surprise.   
  
"For me?" she breathed in her tiny voice and Voldemort nodded, his stomach twisting again.  
  
Eager little hands reached out and plucked the ring from the box, examining it in the light.   
"Pretty." She whispered and slipped it onto her fingers. It was far to big, a ring for an adult, but  
she didn't seem to care as held her hand up admiring it's beauty.   
  
"It's more then pretty," Voldemort said. "It's deadly." Desdemona's eyes flashed with  
excitement again, as if the thought of deadly gifts gave her more pleasure then all the dolls and  
bears in the world. Lucius shuddered at the look in her eyes as she studied the ring, trying to  
figure out it's secret, it's power.   
  
"We'll begin her training tomorrow," Voldemort lifted himself off his knee and turned to regard  
Lucius, whose mouth was opened in protest. "What?" He snapped and Lucius ducked his head.   
  
"It's just, tomorrow is my wife's burning master," Lucius swallowed. Voldemort nodded, not  
understanding, or even caring, but conceding nonetheless.   
  
"Then we will attend to that in the morning, and begin her training in the afternoon," he looked  
to the girl, his eyes becoming as soft as they could when he regarded her. "Would you like that?"  
The girl nodded eagerly, the thought of more presents foremost in her mind. Presents that could  
kill, presents that could be of some use.   
  
Voldemort held out his hand. "Come with me child." Desdemona did not hesitate when she  
placed her much smaller child's hand into his long-fingered one. She leaped from the chair,  
flashing Lucius a smile he couldn't place.   
  
Lucius watched them walk away, Father Evil and Child Evil, hand in hand. In his house, ruining  
his life. It was a hard life, that of a servant. He closed his eyes, wondering when he would finally  
be rid of them, left to his own power, his own ambitions.   
  
The door clicked closed behind them, a little girl's high-pitched squeal of delight floating  
through. Lucius sighed, perhaps it would be never.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione awoke to the sound of dry, choked sobs. They were so full of sadness and melancholy  
it felt as if her heart were breaking, especially when she realized who was causing them.   
  
Draco was on his knees just before her bed, his head bowed, facing the door. And his shoulder's  
were shaking in the unmistakable motion of sobbing. Concern flooded her and she almost flew  
from the bed.   
  
"Draco, what's happened," her hand reached out, touching his shoulder but he jerked away.  
"Draco please." Hermione whispered. Her hand reached out again,  
touching his chin, and gently forcing his face to her own. His face was dry, there were no tears,  
she doubted Draco had any, but there was anguish, enough to bring tears to her own eyes.   
  
"What happened?" She whispered again, her fingers went from his chin up to his cheeks,  
caressing the skin there. He was still shaking, his chest hitching and he shook his head.   
  
"Go away," he bit out. Hermione glared at him through her tears, but didn't respond, just  
lowered herself to the stone ground beside him, her hand still on his face.   
  
"Draco," Hermione whispered, her voice cracked, and he could see her fighting back tears, her  
eyes glassy with them. She was hurting for him he thought in wonder. No one had ever cared  
what he was feeling, no one. So he let her stroke his cheek, slowly and carefully, he forced  
himself to not jerk away from her touch. But he still couldn't bring himself to speak. He couldn't  
find the words, not any that sounded right anyway. So he said the only thing he could force out  
of him.   
  
"My mother," he said and closed his eyes. His mother, his beautiful lovely mother. His mother  
who told him stories, his mother who'd loved him and done her best to protect him. His mother  
who had suffered for him. His mother who had given him children's toys at the age of seventeen,   
and he had never appreciated them. Hermione seemed to understand then. She seemed to know,  
even without his saying, what had happened. She couldn't know the particular's, but she knew in  
general.   
  
"Oh god Draco, I'm sorry," she whispered, not able to think of anything else. There was nothing  
she could say to help him, no words of comfort would be enough. That was the problem with  
losing someone you loved, no one else could understand, and no one else could help. But  
Hermione would try. "Come here," she ordered softly, and before he could pull away she had  
done her best to gather his much larger form into her arms.   
  
"Don't-" he managed to get out between hiccups, but Hermione ignored him, and he was too  
weak with grief to pull away. Besides he felt better here, her arms around his shoulders, one  
hand stroking the back of his head. He felt safe here, comforted by this simple little action.   
  
"It's okay," Hermione was whispering. "I'm here." She was saying and Draco closed his eyes. It  
wasn't okay, but she was there. She had it half right, and he let Hermione pull his head down to  
her shoulder, resting his cheek in the crook between her neck and shoulders. He breathed her in,  
the smell of her, citrus and strawberries. Her hair tickled his face, silky and soft, and her voice  
soothed him, whispering into his ear as her hands stroked his head.   
  
It was more comfort then he had gotten in his entire life. More feeling directed towards him then  
ever before. And he savored it, closing his eyes he breathed it in, and burned it into his memory.  
He filed the feeling away with the stories his mother had told him, slipped it back into his  
consciousness with all his memories of her, safe and protected from the outside world. And  
Draco, despite his sadness, despite his lack of control, and his grief, was happy, in the arms of  
Hermione.   
  
TBC...  
  
More Authors Notes:  
  
I had originally planned for this to be a little longer, not much longer but longer, but this seemed  
like a good place to stop. If you haven't noticed the chapters are from here on out going to be  
considerably longer then the chapters of the beginning, and will perhaps be sent out with less  
frequency. But I think I was pretty fast with this chapter, don't you? ::grin::  
  
The story of Lancelot and Guinevere is by no means true, my knowledge of them is based on the  
musical "Camelot" and that Richard Gere movie, "First Knight" I think it was, so I just made up  
my own ending. It's not completely insignficant, the stories of Arthuer and Druidic lore will play  
heavily into this story, along with some other elements.   
  
Please review! And for those of you who haven't: JOIN MY MAILING LIST. Get updates and  
discuss the story with other fans. Simply send a blank email to the following address:  
  
AndWeHaveSinned-subscribe@yahoogroups.com  
  
Hope you enjoyed it. Review review review.  
  
  
  
  
  
. 


	7. A Note, Not an UpdateYet

Perhaps this is to ambitious of me, considering my unmet goals of before. Not to mention my conceit and ego that is apparently throughout this fic. My plan is to completely revamp this story (and eventually others), I want to go through and correct inconsistencies, typo's, silly grammatical mistakes (I'm horrible with grammar, especially run-on's, so other mistakes will have to be excused unless someone with a good grasp of the language wants to be my beta) before continuing. The other day I sat down and began to reread the entire story, struck by how many mistakes I let slip by me in my rush to post it for all to read. I was also struck by how childish and conceited I was at times. While my mailing group served a practical purpose in sending updates and answering questions it was also a very egotistical thing to start, but spurned by one reader's request and the mailing lists of other fanfic authors I started it. I have made other such egotistical move before, and am now apologizing for that. :;cringes in embarrassment::  
  
So anyone who wishes to see my progress and catch updates can just go to my livejournal, which will have a full list of story links and my frustrations with it shortly.  
  
So the update begins now. Seriously, right now. I'm going through part one, correcting anything I see. If there are any inconsistencies YOU see please email me at and feel free to let me know! After the intial correction is done then the next chapter will be started. I just don't feel comfortable continuing something that was so put together so haphazardly at first.  
  
Much Love,  
  
Diz 


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